gilbert lawrence lighted a cigarette and waited for bruce to speak. it wanted some little time to luncheon. the doctor's statement was likely to add piquancy to the meal.

"well, one hears some queer things," the novelist said at length. "i've been fascinated with that corner house for years. as i told you before, i built up a romance round it. some day i mean to take the papers out of my pigeonhole and work it up."

"did you ever put me in it?" bruce asked gravely.

"well, upon my word, i fancy it was something like it," said lawrence. "there was a hero like yourself, only he wasn't a doctor, and a girl like hetty. also there was a mysterious assignation in the corner house after midnight, and, as a matter of course, a body. none of these stories are complete without a body."

bruce chafed under the flippancy. he was quite undecided what to do. beyond all question the patient whom he had attended under such mysterious circumstances was the murdered man. was it his duty at once to go to the police and tell them all he knew? on the other hand he had no desire to violate professional confidence. certainly the lovely spaniard and the people of the house could have nothing to do with the murder. if they had, they would never have called in a doctor's aid and paid him a handsome fee to save the life of that poor dissipated wretch. it must have happened after they had gone.

"tell us all about it," lawrence asked eagerly.

bruce related his story without going into details. rarely had a raconteur a more flattering audience. most men would have laughed the whole thing to scorn. but the novelist knows the vast possibilities of life, and lawrence paid his companion the compliment of believing every word that he said.

"upon my word, a most remarkable thing," he exclaimed.

"you have said that before." bruce replied irritably. "what i am thinking about at present is my own awkward position. shall i go to the police and tell them everything or shall i respect confidence?"

"pursue a policy of masterly inactivity," lawrence suggested after a thoughtful pause. "say nothing for the present. the matter has not been brought before you officially yet. there will be an inquest, which will only last a few minutes, for the simple reason that the police will ask for an adjournment. meanwhile i will go and have a chat with the man who has the case in hand. if the time comes when you must speak, why speak, of course."

bruce fell in with this suggestion, and sat down to lunch with what appetite he could. he was terribly disturbed and uneasy. he was dining that night with countess lalage, who was giving one of her brilliant little parties. there would be a chance of a cosy little chat with hetty afterwards, but all the same as bruce dressed he wished that he was not going.

even the great beauty and the refinement of his surroundings failed to soothe him this evening. usually this kind of thing pleased him. he noticed vaguely that the countess was dressed in some cloudy lace, all like sea foam, and that the dark eyes were unusually brilliant and glittering.

there was a score of guests in the drawing-room, all laughing and chatting together. hetty was there also, looking, to bruce's eyes, the sweetest and prettiest of them all. she owed nothing to artificial beauty.

"i owe you a deep apology," the countess whispered, as she held bruce's hand. "i was exceedingly rude to you the other night. i ought to have waited for your ice, and more especially, i ought to have waited to congratulate you. i am very glad for hetty's sake. she is a good girl, and i shall miss her."

the voice ran true and clear; there was deep sincerity in the eyes of the speaker. bruce was melting, despite himself. hetty must be wrong. a brilliant woman like that would never throw herself at the feet of a mere doctor. nobody could look in her eyes and doubt her goodness and truth.

"it is very good of you to say so," bruce murmured feebly.

the countess pushed him from her with a merry smile.

"you are distant tonight," she said. "go and talk to hetty. not that i am going to let her monopolise you all the evening. i am too jealous of your reputation for that. now go and make the most of your time."

hetty looked up shyly. there was a faint little smile on her face. she wore a single stone diamond heart on her breast. but for this bruce would not have known how quickly she was breathing.

"what is it?" he asked. "what is the matter, sweetheart?"

hetty smiled up into her lover's face. from under her long lashes she could see that leona lalage was regarding her intently.

"talk in an ordinary manner," she whispered; "say anything foolish--the sort of bald nonsense young men chatter in drawing-rooms. and don't forget that the countess is watching every gesture intently."

"she struck me as being rather nice," bruce replied. "and i am quite sure that she was sincere in her congratulations."

hetty said nothing further on that head. the countess was a wonderful actress. she would have deceived the strongest, coolest head in the world. but even that magnificent actress could not blind a woman's instinct.

"perhaps," hetty said, after a long pause. "perhaps. and yet something tells me that you are in great danger. smile and say something foolish--i feel those eyes going through me. that woman loved you, and you never gave her a thought. you passed her by for me. and who would look at me when she was about?"

"i would for one," bruce laughed. "i am not fond of your tempestuous woman. have there been any other signs and manifestations?"

"don't laugh at me, gordon," hetty whispered. "i knew there was something wrong with that dreadful corner house. you have heard of the tragedy?"

bruce nodded. he would keep his secret for the present even from hetty. in any case this was not the place to discuss the great adventure.

"well, i fancy i can tell you more about it," hetty went on. "only you must not look so interested. try and assume the idiotic expression of a lover on the stage. last night i could not sleep. i have been terribly restless lately. i got up to fetch a book from the schoolroom, which is in the front at the top of the house. the blind was up, the window was not closed, so i looked out. the air was so cool that it did my head good. i was there about a quarter of an hour. i heard the noise of a door being closed and whispers on the pavement. those people had come out of the corner house, two of them--a man and a woman."

"what time would that be?" bruce asked as casually as possible.

"about half-past-four. it must have been about that time, because just after i got back to my room the clock struck five. a motor car came up, one of the quietest i have ever heard. as the woman got in she stumbled, and the man swore at her. then there was the strangest thing, the dull side of the motor car gleamed in places like silver, as if something had been rubbed off it by the woman as she fell. what do i think it was? well, so far as i could make out, the car was all hung with black crape."