a mist came over his
brain, and all glided away, leaving his mind blank.

For it was all one terrible confusion, mainly due to the fearful mental
strain to which he had been exposed during the past few hours; and at
last he sat there holding his throbbing brow, feeling that he could
think of everything but the one point to which he strove.

At one moment Guest's horrified face was before him, and in a puzzled
way he felt that his friend had left him with the idea that he had slain
Brettison, and that he ought to have made that portion of his trouble
clear to him; but at that time it was as if he were fettered by the
horrors of a nightmare-like dream.

But he waved these thoughts aside. They were as nothing to the terrible
perplexity he had to master, and the first step toward that mastery was
to find Brettison, whom he had last seen on the morning appointed for
the wedding, wishing him happiness and every good thing which could fall
to a bridegroom's lot.

And now? What did it all mean? How could he clear up the chaos which
bade fair to wreck his brain. Brettison could not have returned; and
yet how strange it all was! What could he do?

One thing shone out, however, clearly; and that was the knowledge that
he could come back here and stay without being haunted by the presence
of a great horror close at hand. He even began to grasp the fact that,
for a long time past, he had been needlessly shunning his rooms and
living away in a morbid state, always dreading discovery; and opening
his doors at every visit, fully expecting to find himself face to face
with the police, waiting to trap him in his lair.

How he had suffered! How he had stolen to his chambers at night,
creeping up to his door furtively, and, after entering, examining the
closet, and making sure that it had not been tampered with and opened in
his absence.

It had been a terrible period of agony, such as had turned him old
before his time; and now he had discovered that his suffering and dread
had been vain and empty; that he had stayed away from the inn for
naught, unless all this was imagination; another of the horrible
nightmare dreams by which he had been haunted ever since that dreadful
day.

At last he grew calmer, and felt able to look matters in the face. The
great horror had passed away, and in so passing it had roused him to
action. There was work to do, a strange complication to solve; and he
settled in his own mind how that was