defined character; this suddenly developed
into a weak, almost childish balance of the brain. Instead of
possessing a will of her own, she was no longer the mistress of her
actions, but as easily led as an infant. Only to myself and to my
mother was this change apparent. To all her friends and acquaintances
she was just the same. About that time she consulted this man
here--Sir Bernard Eyton, her husband's friend--regarding some other
ailment, and he no doubt at once detected that her intellect had given
way. Although devoted to her husband, nevertheless the influence of
any friend of the moment was irresistible, and for that reason she
drifted into the pleasure-seeking set in town."

"But the tragedy?" Jevons exclaimed. "Tell us of that. My own
inquiries show that you are aware of it all. Mrs. Courtenay murdered
her husband, I know."

"Mary----the assassin!" I gasped.

"Alas! it is too true. Now that my poor sister is dead, concealment is
no longer necessary," my love responded, with a deep sigh. "Mary
killed her husband. She returned home, entered the house secretly,
and, ascending to his room, struck him to the heart."

"But the wound--how was it inflicted?" I demanded eagerly.

"With that pair of long, sharp-pointed scissors which used to be on
poor Henry's writing-table. You remember them. They were about eight
inches long, with ivory handles and a red morocco case. The wound
puzzled you, but to me it seems plain that, after striking the blow,
in an endeavour to extricate the weapon she opened it and closed it
again, thereby inflicting those internal injuries that were so
minutely described at the inquest. Well, on that night I heard a
sound, and, fearing that the invalid wanted something, crept from my
room. As I gained the door I met Mary upon the threshold. She stood
facing me with a weird, fixed look, and in her hand was the weapon
with which she had killed her husband. That awful moment is fixed
indelibly upon my memory. I shall carry its recollection to the grave.
I dashed quickly into the room, and to my horror saw what had
occurred. Then my thoughts were for Mary--to conceal her guilt.
Whispering to her to obey me I led her downstairs, through the back
premises, and so out into the street. A cab was passing, and I put her
into it, telling the man to drive to the Hennikers', with whom she had
been spending the evening. Then, cleaning the scissors of blood by
thrusting them several times into the mould