d turns at a right angle, into a
second corridor, called the South Corridor. What rooms are in the South
Corridor? There are three rooms. First room, the little study,
mentioned in the nurse's evidence. Second room, Mrs. Eustace Macallan's
bedchamber. Third room, her husband's bedchamber. What does Mrs. Beauly
(supposed to be worn out by fatigue) want in that part of the house
at half-past two in the morning? Dexter decides on running the risk of
being seen--and sets off on a voyage of discovery. Do you know how
he gets from place to place without his chair? Have you seen the poor
deformed creature hop on his hands? Shall he show you how he does it,
before he goes on with his story?"

I hastened to stop the proposed exhibition.

"I saw you hop last night," I said. "Go on!--pray go on with your story!

"Do you like my dramatic style of narrative?" he asked. "Am I
interesting?"

"Indescribably interesting, Mr. Dexter. I am eager to hear more."

He smiled in high approval of his own abilities.

"I am equally good at the autobiographical style," he said. "Shall we
try that next, by way of variety?"

"Anything you like," I cried, losing all patience with him, "if you will
only go on!"

"Part Two; Autobiographical Style," he announced, with a wave of his
hand. "I hopped along the Guests' Corridor, and turned into the South
Corridor. I stopped at the little study. Door open; nobody there. I
crossed the study to the second door, communicating with Mrs. Macallan's
bedchamber. Locked! I looked through the keyhole Was there something
hanging over it, on the other side? I can't say--I only know there was
nothing to be seen but blank darkness. I listened. Nothing to be heard.
Same blank darkness, same absolute silence, inside the locked second
door of Mrs. Eustace's room, opening on the corridor. I went on to her
husband's bedchamber. I had the worst possible opinion of Mrs. Beauly--I
should not have been in the least surprised if I had caught her in
Eustace's room. I looked through the keyhole. In this case, the key
was out of it--or was turned the right way for me--I don't know which.
Eustace's bed was opposite the door. No discovery. I could see him, all
by himself, innocently asleep. I reflected a little. The back staircase
was at the end of the corridor, beyond me. I slid down the stairs, and
looked about me on the lower floor, by the light of the night-lamp.
Doors all fast locked and keys outside, so that I could try