ull as lead once more. Breathing
equably and quietly, the strange figure lay stretched upon the bed. 'How
can he sleep? How can he sleep?' she whispered with a black and hopeless
indignation. What a night she had had! And he!

She turned noiselessly away. The candle had guttered to extinction. The
big glass reflected her, voluminous and wan, her dark-ringed eyes, full
lips, rich, glossy hair, and rounded chin. 'Yes, yes,' it seemed to
murmur mournfully. She turned away, and drawing stealthily near stooped
once more quite low, and examined the face on the pillow with lynx-like
concentration. And though every nerve revolted at the thought, she was
finally convinced, unwillingly, but assuredly, that her husband was
here. Indeed, if it were not so, how could she for a single moment have
accepted the possibility that he was a stranger? He seemed to haunt,
like a ghostly emanation, this strange, detestable face--as memory
supplies the features concealed beneath a mask. The face was still
and stony, like one dead or imaged in wax, yet beneath it dreams were
passing--silly, ordinary Lawford dreams. She was almost alarmed at the
terribly rancorous hatred she felt for the face... 'It was just like
Arthur to be so taken in!'

Then she too remembered Quain, and remembered also in the slowly paling
dusk that the house would soon be stirring. She went out and noiselessly
locked the door again. But it was useless to begin looking for
Quain now--her husband had a good many dull books, most of them his
'eccentric' father's. What must the servants be thinking? and what was
all that talk about a mysterious visitor? She would have to question
Ada--diplomatically. She returned to her room and sat down in an
arm-chair, and waited. In sheer weariness she fell into a doze, and woke
at the sound of dustpan and broom. She rang the bell, and asked for hot
water, tea, and a basin of cornflour.

'And please, Ada, be as quiet as possible over your work; your master is
in a nice sleep, and must not be disturbed on any account. In the front
bedroom.' She looked up suddenly. 'By the way, who let Dr Ferguson in
last night?' It was dangerous, but successful.

'Dr Ferguson, ma'am? Oh, you mean... He WAS in.'

Sheila smiled resignedly. 'Was in? What do you mean, "was in"? And where
were you, then?'

'I had been sent out to Critchett's, the chemist's.'

'Of course, of course. So cook let Dr Ferguson in, then? Why didn't you
say so before, Ada? And d