ion of Miserrimus Dexter
on his departure from Mrs. Macallan's house suggested that he had not
endured my long absence very patiently, and that he was still as far
as ever from giving his shattered nervous system its fair chance of
repose.

The next morning brought me Mr. Playmore's reply to the letter which I
had addressed to him from Paris.

He wrote very briefly, neither approving nor blaming my decision, but
strongly reiterating his opinion that I should do well to choose a
competent witness as my companion at my coming interview with Dexter.
The most interesting part of the letter was at the end. "You must be
prepared," Mr. Playmore wrote, "to see a change for the worse in Dexter.
A friend of mine was with him on a matter of business a few days since,
and was struck by the alteration in him. Your presence is sure to have
its effect, one way or another. I can give you no instructions for
managing him--you must be guided by the circumstances. Your own tact
will tell you whether it is wise or not to encourage him to speak of the
late Mrs. Eustace. The chances of his betraying himself all revolve (as
I think) round that one topic: keep him to it if you can." To this was
added, in a postscript: "Ask Mr. Benjamin if he were near enough to the
library door to hear Dexter tell you of his entering the bedchamber on
the night of Mrs. Eustace Macallan's death."

I put the question to Benjamin when we met at the luncheon-table before
setting forth for the distant suburb in which Miserrimus Dexter lived.
My old friend disapproved of the contemplated expedition as strongly as
ever. He was unusually grave and unusually sparing of his words when he
answered me.

"I am no listener," he said. "But some people have voices which insist
on being heard. Mr. Dexter is one of them."

"Does that mean that you heard him?" I asked.

"The door couldn't muffle him, and the wall couldn't muffle him,"
Benjamin rejoined. "I heard him--and I thought it infamous. There!"

"I may want you to do more than hear him this time," I ventured to say.
"I may want you to make notes of our conversation while Mr. Dexter is
speaking to me. You used to write down what my father said, when he was
dictating his letters to you. Have you got one of your little note-books
to spare?"

Benjamin looked up from his plate with an aspect of stern surprise.

"It's one thing," he said, "to write under the dictation of a great
merchant, conducting a vast correspond