had written down with infinite care each word of my remarkable statement, he said—

“It seems as though both the man and woman fell victims to some plot or other. You say that there were no high words, and that all you heard was a woman’s shriek, and a man’s voice say, ‘Why, you’ve killed her!’ Now, have you any idea of the identity of that man?”

“None whatsoever,” I answered. “My mind is a perfect blank on everything, save the personal appearance of the man who was afterwards struck to the heart.”

“Exactly. But don’t you think that the man who expressed horror at the first crime fell the victim of the second?”

“Ah! I never thought of that!” I said. “Of course, it seems most likely.”

“Certainly. The second crime was committed undoubtedly in order to conceal the first.”

“Then how extraordinary it is that I was spared.”

“There was a motive, I believe, for that. We shall no doubt find that later.”

“You will communicate with Scotland Yard, I suppose,” I remarked.

“Perhaps we shall; perhaps not,” answered the inspector, vaguely. “The affair must, of course, be fully investigated. Have you anything to add? You say that some woman treated you kindly. Have you any idea of her personal appearance?”

“None,” I answered. “The only fact I know was that she was in evening dress, and that upon her wrist was a curious smooth-worn bangle of a kind of fine plaited wire, very pliable, like those worn by African native women.”

“Eh! What—impossible!” gasped the inspector, in a voice which surprised me. But next moment he recovered his self-possession and made a calm remark that this fact did not lead to anything definite. Yet the sudden exclamation of startled surprise which escaped him aroused within me a belief that my words had given him some mysterious clue.

“You have no further statement to make?”

“None,” I responded.

There was a few moments’ silence during which time the quill continued its rapid scratching.

“You will kindly sign your information,” the 

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