eyes were fixed upon the little object in my palm--the silent but
damning evidence--and my mind became filled by bitterest regrets. I
saw how cleverly I had been duped--I recognised that this woman, whom
I thought an angel, was only a cunning assassin.

No, believe me: I was not prejudging her! The thought had already
occurred to me that she might have entered the room wearing that shawl
perhaps to wish the invalid good-night. She had, however, in answer to
my question, declared that she had retired to bed without seeing
him--for Nurse Kate had told her that he was sleeping. She had
therefore not disturbed him.

Then, yet another thought had occurred to me. She might have worn the
shawl when she entered after the raising of the alarm. In order to
clear up that point I had questioned the servants, one by one, and all
had told me the same story, namely, that Miss Ethelwynn had not
entered the room at all. She had only come to the door and glanced in,
then turned away in horror and shut herself in her own room. As far as
anyone knew, she had not summoned sufficient courage to go in and look
upon the dead man's face. She declared herself horrified, and dared
not to enter the death chamber.

In the light of my discovery all these facts as related to me made the
truth only too apparent. She had entered there unknown to anyone, and
that her presence had been with a fell purpose I could no longer
doubt.

If I gave the clue into Ambler Jevons' hands he would, I knew, quickly
follow it, gathering up the threads of the tangled skein one by one,
until he could openly charge her with the crime. I stood undecided
how to act. Should I leave my friend to make his own investigations
independently and unbiassed, or should I frankly tell him of my own
startling discovery?

I carefully went through the whole of the circumstances, weighing
point after point, and decided at last to still retain the knowledge I
had gained. The point which outbalanced my intention was that curious
admission of Short regarding the possession of the knife. So I
resolved to say nothing to my friend until after the inquest.

As may be imagined, the London papers that afternoon were full of the
mystery. Nothing like a first-class "sensation," sub-editors will tell
you. There is art in alliterative headlines and startling
"cross-heads." The inevitable interview with "a member of the
family"--who is generally anonymous, be it said--is sure to be eagerly
devou