Fane and Derrick parted at the top of Achilles Avenue, the latter heartily¹ thanking the former for the very handsome cheque. "And if that husband returns, sir," said Derrick, shaking hands, "you may be sure that I'll let you know straight off. By the way"--he drew near confidentially--"do you know that the motor-car in which the assassin is supposed to have escaped is in Madame Tussaud's?"  
"No"--Fane laughed--"what possible interest can it have?"
 
"Well, sir, you see the mystery of the case makes it interesting. A lot of people will go there and look at it, and talk about the case."
 
"I hope they may stumble upon some evidence likely to give a clue to the assassin."
 
"Bless you, no one will do that, sir. The case has baffled me, so I do not think there's much chance of any one else getting at the truth. I think that American gentleman's a smart man of business, though. He sold the car to Tussaud's at a long price."
 
"H'm!" said Fane, pondering, "do you think he had anything to do with the crime?"
 
"No, sir. He missed his motor-car sure enough. Had he killed the woman, he would have escaped in it and proved an alibi²."
 
"I think it was better what he did do. He met Mulligan and you, and with you surveyed the corpse³. That daring would avert⁴ any suspicion."
 
"Have you an idea yourself, sir, that he might----"
 
"No, no!" interrupted Fane hurriedly; "it's simply an idea. But I have learned from Mr. Calvert that Tracey--that's his name, isn't it?--has taken the Hampstead house."
 
"I wonder what's that for?" asked Derrick, startled. "I want to find out. And I'll ask Mr. Calvert this very day."
 
"Are you seeing him to-day, sir?"
 
"Yes; I am going there now. He wrote asking me to call this afternoon. When I leave you I'll take a cab to his lodgings⁵."
 
Derrick mused⁶. "I'd like to come along with you," he said.
 
"No," replied Fane decisively, "better not just now. I am sure of nothing. I only fancy Tracey may have had something to do with the matter. Should I learn anything I shall let you know."
 
"Thank you, sir. I fancy the case is finished myself; but of course something unexpected may turn up. Good-day."
 
"Good-day," replied Fane, and hailed a cab.
 
Owing to his long conversation with Derrick, there was not much time to be lost if he wished to be punctual. Wondering if Arnold desired to see him about Laura, Fane told the cabman to drive as fast as possible to Bloomsbury. "I expect now that he has the money, Calvert will want to marry Laura at once," thought Fane, leaning back in the cab. "I'm sure Julia ought to be satisfied with such a match. But she is an impossible woman to deal with. I wish I hadn't married her. I shall never be my own master now."
 
It was lucky that things were as they were, for Fane was the last man in the world to take the initiative. He always required to be governed and guided, scolded and petted. The slack character of the man could be seen from his mouth, which was constantly half-open. A pleasant, handsome, kindhearted man was Fane, but his very good qualities added to his weakness. His languid good-nature was always getting him into trouble, and he was kindly⁷ not so much from a genuine feeling of the sort as from a desire not to be troubled. It is much easier to be yielding in this world than to hold one's own. But those who thus give way, always have constant troubles. The only way in this best of possible worlds to keep peace, is to be prepared for war. Human beings invariably take advantage of one another, and a kind heart is looked upon as a sign of weakness.
 
On arriving at the Bloomsbury lodgings, Fane saw Arnold looking out of the window, evidently on the watch for his arrival. After dismissing the cab Fane went up stairs, and on entering Calvert's sitting-room⁸ was greeted by its occupant with signs of restraint. Behind Arnold stood Tracey, whom Fane recognised from having seen him at the inquest. The American was also grave, and Fane wondered what was to be the subject of conversation. It could not be Arnold's engagement to Laura, or both the men would not look so serious as they did.
 
"I am glad to see you, Fane," said Calvert, pushing forward a chair. "Sit down. I hope you don't mind Mr. Tracey being present? You met him at the inquest, I believe?"
 
"We saw one another," said Fane. "I hope you are well, Mr. Tracey?"
 
"I thank you, sir," said Luther gravely, "I am well. And you?"
 
"Pretty well," said Fane fretfully; "but this murder has given me a lot of anxiety. Not a pleasant thing to happen in one's house."
 
"By no means, sir," replied Tracey, with a puzzled glance at Calvert. "Is it true that you are moving, as I have been informed by Miss Gerty B., the lady I'm engaged to?"
 
"Yes; I suppose Miss Mason told her. My wife doesn't like the place now that it has such a bad reputation. We intend to go abroad for a time to Switzerland."
 
"You'll miss your yachting," said Arnold, who was taking some papers out of his desk.
 
"I don't think I'll yacht any more," said Fane gloomily; "my sea days are over."
 
"Did you yacht much?" asked Tracey.
 
"A lot. I sometimes stopped away for a couple of months."
 
"What did Mrs. Fane say?"
 
Fane laughed. "Oh, she didn't mind. She never cared for the sea herself. Between you and me, Mr. Tracey, my wife is fonder of business than pleasure. I am the reverse."
 
"All the same, Fane, you must attend to business now."
 
"What, Calvert, do you call your engagement to Laura business?"
 
Arnold looked surprised. "I did not ask you here to talk about that," he replied still seriously.
 
"Oh," answered Fane carelessly, and taking out a cigarette, "I thought you wanted me to make things square with Julia."
 
"Laura and I understand one another," said Arnold, returning to his seat with a green-covered book in his hand. "I am now well off, and there is no bar to our marriage."
 
"I am glad of that. A lucky thing for you, the death of that woman."
 
"I would rather she had lived, poor soul," said Calvert with emotion.
 
Fane shrugged⁹ his shoulders. "We all have to die some time."
 
"But not by the knife," put in Tracey sharply. "The poor soul, as Calvert calls her, met with a terrible death."
 
"I know, I know," said Fane irritably¹¹. "I wish you wouldn't dwell on the matter, Mr. Tracey. It is excessively unpleasant for me, seeing I live in the house where she was killed. Why don't you offer a reward to clear up the mystery, Calvert?"
 
"I don't think there will be any need now," said Arnold with emphasis.
 
"What do you mean?" Fane sat up suddenly. "Because Tracey and I have reason to believe we have found the assassin."
 
"What!" Fane sprang to his feet much excited. "Who is it? Tell me his name."
 
"What would you do if you knew it?" asked Tracey, who was looking at Fane with great wonderment.
 
"Do," said the other, clenching¹² his fist, "I would hang the man."
 
"How do you know it was a man? It may have been a woman."
 
"Why do you say that, Mr. Tracey?"
 
"Well, there was the singing, you know."
 
"Nonsense! I never thought of it at the time, but now I know that the singing proceeded from a phonograph."
 
"Phonograph!" cried both men, much astonished.
 
"Yes. Julia had an idea of getting records of her songs. She sings very well, you know, Calvert. She has had a phonograph for a long time, and amuses the child with it. That song, 'Kathleen Mavourneen,' is a favourite with my wife, and I wondered afterwards how it came to be sung, seeing she was at Westcliff-on-Sea. Then, when a description was given of the kind of voice, I knew it was the phonograph."
 
"Why didn't you say so at the inquest?" asked the American sharply.
 
"Because it never struck me till later. But that's enough about the matter. I'm weary of the murder. Let us talk of other things."
 
"I am afraid we cannot," said Arnold, holding up the book! "Do you know what this is, Fane?"
 
"No," said the other, staring; "what is it?"
 
"The diary of Mrs. Brand."
 
"How strange," said Fane, but his voice sounded nervously¹³ uncertain; "where did you find it?"
 
"It was concealed," said Tracey, with emphasis; "the man who removed all evidence of Mrs. Brand's past life could not find it. And by means of that diary, Mr. Fane, we are enabled to prove a lot."
 
"If you can prove who murdered the woman I shall be glad to hear."
 
"You really mean that?" asked Tracey, staring in his turn.
 
"Of course." Fane stared at Tracey in return, and then looked at Arnold. "I'm glad you sent for me, Calvert. Let us hear everything."
 
"It is the story of Mrs. Brand's life----"
 
"Oh! And has it to do with the murder?"
 
"I think so."
 
"Does it point to the assassin?"
 
"It may even do that. But we can't be sure."
 
Fane threw back his head and closed his eyes. "Read on," he said; "I will give you my opinion."
 
Tracey and Calvert glanced at one another again, and then the latter opened the book. Fane, hearing the rustle¹⁴ of the leaves, sat up.
 
"I say, you needn't read all that," he said; "I can't stand reading at any time, not even from an actor. Tell me the gist¹⁵ of the matter."
 
"From the beginning?" asked Arnold, closing the book.
 
"Certainly--from the very beginning."
 
"As you please," replied Calvert, and handed the book to Tracey. Fane, still smoking, again leaned back his head and closed his eyes. After a pause, Arnold commenced the story. But after a few words, he broke down irritably--
 
"I can't tell you the thing if you don't look at me."
 
"Thanks," said Fane lazily, "I can hear better with my eyes closed."
 
"Oh, don't bother!" cried Tracey roughly to Calvert. "Get along. The thing's getting on my nerves."
 
"I hope it won't get on mine," said Fane, with a sigh; "go on."
 
"Mrs. Brand," commenced Arnold, without further preamble¹⁶, "was the daughter of my uncle----"
 
"Yes," murmured Fane, "I heard she was your cousin."
 
"I suppose you heard that from Laura," replied Arnold calmly. "Yes, she was my cousin, and left her fortune to me, although I saw very little of her. She is also--or rather, seeing she is dead, was also--the cousin of Professor Bocaros, whose aunt married my uncle."
 
"Never heard of him," said Fane.
 
"You will hear of him now," said Calvert tartly¹⁷; "do not interrupt, please. Well, Flora¹⁸----"
 
"Who is Flora?" asked Fane again.
 
"My cousin, Mrs. Brand. She was Flora Calvert. She kept a diary all these years, as she led a rather lonely life. The man she married was a commercial traveller, and was frequen............