For once in his life Lawrence was utterly taken aback. He could do no more than stammer out an apology and assure the stern dark-eyed stranger that nothing in the way of a liberty was intended.

"You see, I have found something out," he said. "I rather hoped--indeed, I have still hopes--that the culprit----"

"What on earth are you talking about?" Charlton asked impatiently.

"But, surely, my dear sir, the tragedy that took place here so recently----"

"So recently! Ah, this is a veritable house of tragedies. I must get you to explain. I have come here direct from Paris to get certain papers. Put the gas out and come into the dining-room where the shutters are up. We don\'t want the police fussing about. You can tell me everything. If I don\'t make a mistake you are Mr. Gilbert Lawrence, the novelist."

"And I remember you now," Lawrence replied. "So you know nothing of what has been happening lately?"

The story was told at length, Charlton listening with a certain amount of interest. He looked like a man under the cloud of a great sorrow, the contemplation of which was never far from his eyes.

"This is an accursed house," he said presently. "My father went mad here and committed suicide. My wife did the same thing, but then she was the victim of one of the greatest fiends that ever took mortal guise."

Mr. Charlton\'s melancholy eyes seemed to be fixed on space. Just for the moment he had forgotten that he was not alone. Lawrence gave a sympathetic cough. As a matter of fact, he had not yet explained what he was doing there, and the longer the explanation was postponed the better he would be pleased.

"You remember the case of my wife?" Charlton asked suddenly. "Ah, I see you do. Well, I am going to tell you my story. You are a man of sentiment and feeling, or your novels greatly belie you. And a doctor always respects confidence. When my wife died there was an inquiry extending over many days. The great question was: Had she poisoned herself, did she take poison by misadventure, or did I kill her? Nine people out of every ten believed I was guilty. I let them believe it at the risk of my neck, and why?"

The speaker asked the question quite fiercely.

"Because you loved your wife and respected her memory," said Lawrence.

"Correct. You are a man after my own heart, sir. My wife committed suicide because she thought I no longer loved her, and that I had transferred my affections to the woman who acted as her companion.

"That woman was perhaps the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. We never dreamt the depth of her wickedness, that she was a gambler and a forger. But she was. And when the gaol loomed before her she took my wife\'s jewels to sell and so save herself from exposure.

"But she never got those jewels out of the house. She was found out by a piece of good luck--whether good or bad luck I shall leave you to gu............