apparently, until, when I had dismissed him, he
turned in the doorway, and:

"Excuse me, sir," he said--and cleared his throat.

"Yes, Coates?"

"About half an hour ago, sir, the dogs all around started howling,
sir. I thought I'd better mention it, as Inspector Gatton asked me
this morning if I had ever heard the dogs howling."

I looked at him straightly.

"Inspector Gatton asked you thus?"

"He did, sir. So I have reported the occurrence. Good night, sir."

"Good night, Coates," I replied.

But for long enough after his departure I sat there in the armchair in
my study, thinking over this seemingly trivial occurrence. From where
I sat I could see the light shining upon the gilt-lettered title of
Maspero's "Egyptian Art"--and my thoughts promised to be ill
bedfellows.

Contrary to custom, I slept that night with closed windows! And
although I awakened twice, once at two o'clock and again at four,
thinking that I had heard the mournful signal of the dogs, nothing but
my own uneasy imagination disturbed my slumbers.

Breakfast despatched, and my correspondence dealt with, I sent Coates
to the garage for my little car, and since I should have another
companion, left him behind, and myself drove to Isobel's flat.
Woman-like, she was not nearly ready, and there was much bustling on
the part of the repentant Marie--who had been retained in spite of her
share in the tragedy of Sir Marcus's death--before we finally set out
for Mrs. Wentworth's.

Isobel was very silent on the way, but once I intercepted a sidelong
glance and felt my heart leaping madly when she blushed.

Mrs. Wentworth made me very welcome as had ever been her way. She was
an eccentric, but embarrassingly straightforward old lady; and if I
had heeded her simple motherly counsel in the past all might have been
different.

She bore Isobel off to her room, leaving me to my own devices, for she
had never observed any ceremony towards me in all the years that I had
known her, but had taught me to make myself at home beneath her
hospitable roof. I knew, too, because she had never troubled to
disguise the fact, that she regarded Isobel and me as made for one
another. Isobel's engagement to poor Eric Coverly, Mrs. Wentworth had
all along regarded as a ghastly farce, and I can never forget her
reception of me on the occasion of my first visit after returning from
Mesopotamia.

Half an hour or so elapsed, then, before Isobel returned; and,
although