main object in making inquiries at the registry was to discover my wife's address, and in this I was successful, for in the same document I found that she was described as "Beryl Grace Wynd, spinster, of 46, Earl's-court Road, Kensington."

I had, at least, gained knowledge of the house in which the tragedy had been enacted.

"When the young lady called to make this application, were you present?" I inquired eagerly.

"Yes.  I saw her."

"What was she like?  Could you give me a description of her?"

"She was good-looking, elegantly dressed, and about middle height, if I remember aright."

"And her hair?"

"It was of a colour rather unusual," answered the man, peering at me through his spectacles.  "A kind of golden-brown."

The description was exact.  Beryl had been there, and of her own accord applied for a licence to marry me.  The mystery increased each moment.

"Was she alone?"  I inquired.

"No.  Her father was with her."

"How did you know he was her father?"

"He introduced himself to me as such--Major Wynd."

"Major Wynd!"  I ejaculated.  "But Mr Wynd is not an officer.  What kind of man is he?"

"Of military appearance, round-faced, and good-humoured."

"Old?"

"Certainly not--scarcely fifty.  He wore a single eyeglass."

The description did not answer to that of the Tempter, but rather to that of Tattersett.  The truth seemed plain: the Major had posed as Beryl's father, and had given his consent to the marriage.

The registry official, a little dry-as-dust individual who wore steel-rimmed spectacles poised far down his thin nose, endeavoured to learn who and what I was; but I merely replied that I was making inquiries on behalf of certain friends of the lady, and having satisfied myself by another 

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