me as that
one"--jerking his head toward the door--"and you won't go far wrong if
you put it down to jealousy."

The Doctor sat silently pondering. The sergeant slowly filled his glass
again.

"You've examined her dress, of course, sir? Anything in the pockets?"

"Nothing--absolutely nothing!"

"Nothing torn? No appearance of having been robbed?"

"No. Merely the cut where the blow was given."

"Just so, sir. About the weapon--an ordinary knife, should you say?"

"No; from the appearance and general character of the wound it was
caused by a two-edged blade."

"H'm! Sort of dagger--stiletto kind of thing?" queried the sergeant.

"I should say so."

The sergeant gave a prolonged whistle, with an air of intense
satisfaction.

"Supports my idea, you see, sir. A man going about with a dagger in his
pocket usually means to use it. A case of jealousy--that's what it is!
It's surprising, I'm sure, the way a man will put his neck into a rope
if there's a woman t'other side of it. You wait till this young woman
comes round, and you'll find that that's about the size of it. The work
of some hot-headed young fool she's thrown over, I expect; or, maybe,
she's bolted from her husband, and it's a case of elopement. Shouldn't
wonder, for the handsomer they are the more mischief they get up to.
That's my experience."

"I hope you are mistaken," said the Doctor, rising and looking
thoughtfully at the fire. "I hope you are, but we shall see. Fill your
glass, sergeant!"

"Thank you, sir, I am sure." The sergeant obediently filled his glass
for the fourth time, and held it critically between his eye and the
light. "Well, we shall see, as you say. When do you fancy you'll be
able to speak to her, may I ask?"

"Impossible to say. She may be sensible to-morrow, or the shock may
cause a fever, in which case her condition may become highly dangerous.
I can't possibly say."

"Pity there isn't something about her by which she might be
identified," mused the sergeant, thoughtfully. "But it'll all be in the
papers to-morrow, and it will be odd if it doesn't catch the eye of
some one who knows her. But she's French, if I don't mistake, or at any
rate, not English."

Doctor Brudenell, recalling his impression of the ghastly face as he
had seen it, first in the light of the sergeant's lantern, and
afterward lying upon a pillow hardly whiter than itself, silently
endorsed this opinion. No, decidedly she was not English; but he did