he had said to Mrs. Allen.

She had therefore taken her to the bedroom, and endeavoured to soothe
her. She was greatly excited, trembling all over, but made no other
attempt to go downstairs. She just sat in her dressing gown by her
bedroom fire, with her head sunk in her hands. Mrs. Allen stayed with
her most of the night. As to the other servants, they had all gone
to bed, and the alarm did not reach them until just before the police
arrived. They slept at the extreme back of the house, and could not
possibly have heard anything.

So far the housekeeper could add nothing on cross-examination save
lamentations and expressions of amazement.

Cecil Barker succeeded Mrs. Allen as a witness. As to the occurrences of
the night before, he had very little to add to what he had already told
the police. Personally, he was convinced that the murderer had escaped
by the window. The bloodstain was conclusive, in his opinion, on that
point. Besides, as the bridge was up, there was no other possible way of
escaping. He could not explain what had become of the assassin or why he
had not taken his bicycle, if it were indeed his. He could not possibly
have been drowned in the moat, which was at no place more than three
feet deep.

In his own mind he had a very definite theory about the murder. Douglas
was a reticent man, and there were some chapters in his life of which he
never spoke. He had emigrated to America when he was a very young man.
He had prospered well, and Barker had first met him in California, where
they had become partners in a successful mining claim at a place called
Benito Canon. They had done very well; but Douglas had suddenly sold
out and started for England. He was a widower at that time. Barker had
afterwards realized his money and come to live in London. Thus they had
renewed their friendship.

Douglas had given him the impression that some danger was hanging
over his head, and he had always looked upon his sudden departure from
California, and also his renting a house in so quiet a place in England,
as being connected with this peril. He imagined that some secret
society, some implacable organization, was on Douglas's track, which
would never rest until it killed him. Some remarks of his had given him
this idea; though he had never told him what the society was, nor how
he had come to offend it. He could only suppose that the legend upon the
placard had some reference to this secret society.

"How long