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 guess. she had barely time to throw the gems down the well which is in the little courtyard behind the house, and my wife saw it all. the woman was informed that on my return from a journey i should be told everything. she knew that investigation would follow. and what did that fiend of a woman do. she forged a letter from me in which i made the most violent love to her and asked her to fly with me. mind you, that letter was posted and delivered here. it was very easy to contrive that it should find its way into the hands of my poor wife; it was safe to reckon upon her emotional temperament. she read the letter; she took from a drawer a phial of some sleeping draught, and she poisoned herself."

charlton paused and wiped his forehead. he spoke quite calmly and collectedly, but the great drops stood on his face.

"i got home sooner than expected, got home in time to find my wife dead and that fatal letter in her hand. the woman who was the cause of all the mischief entered the room just too late to get the letter back. she was off her guard for the instant, and i saw it all in a flash. the part about the jewels i got later from one of the servants who had been afraid to speak before.

"i said nothing--for my dear wife's sake i was silent. you see i could prove nothing. no jury would have got anything out of the fiend who brought this about. the letter i carefully concealed. i took the risk of hanging, and as people blamed me my wife's good name was saved."

"i am afraid i don't follow your reasoning," bruce said.

"i do," lawrence observed. "at the time it was quite natural. but it seemed a pity to let that woman get off scot free."

a queer, hard smile came over charlton's face.

"nemesis is slow but sure," he said. "my turn will come. that letter is locked up in the safe yonder. would you like to see it and compare it with my own ordinary handwriting? oh, that was a wonderful woman!"

charlton proceeded to open a safe in the wall and took from it two letters.

"there," he exclaimed. "that is the letter, the other sheet is my own handwriting. did you ever see a more marvellous imitation? there are times when i feel as if i really must have written the letter myself. look at it, mr. lawrence."

lawrence had pounced upon it eagerly. his lithe little frame was thrilling with excitement. he held his head back as if sniffing at some pungent odour.

"here's a discovery," he said, excitedly. "here's a perfect revelation. mr. charlton, will you trust me for four and twenty hours with this letter? i've found out something that fairly takes my breath away."

"as you please," charlton said, indifferently. "all discoveries are the same to me now. but why do you smell that letter?"

"i'm on the scent," lawrence laughed. "all the same, if i am correct it will be no laughing matter for somebody before long."