e turned to me. "What's your theory, Mr. Hunt?"

I was prepared for this question; my mind had been busying itself
foresightedly with every possible turn our conversation was likely to
take. All my faculties were sharpened by strain, by my pressing sense
that Susan's future, for good or evil, might somehow be linked to my
lightest word. I had determined, then, in advance, not to speak in
Conlon's presence of my inexplicable vision, not to mention it at all to
anyone unless some unexpected turn of the wheel might make it seem
expedient. I could use it to Susan's advantage, I believed, more
effectively by indirection; I endeavored to do so now.

"My theory?" I queried.

"As to how Mrs. Hunt met her death. However painful, we've got to face
that out, sooner or later."

"Naturally. But I have no theory," I replied; "I have an unshakable
conviction."

"Ah! Which is----"

"That the whole thing was accidental, of course; just as Miss Blake
affirmed it to be over the telephone."

"You believe that _because_ she affirmed it?"

"Exactly."

"That won't go down with the coroner," struck in Conlon. "How could it?
I'd like to think it, well enough--but it don't with me!"

"Wait, Conlon!" suggested Doctor Askew, sharply. "I'll conduct this
inquiry just now, if you don't mind--and if Mr. Hunt will be good enough
to answer."

"Why not?" I replied.

"Thank you. Conlon's point is a good one, all the same. Have you been
able to form any reasonable notion of how such an accident could have
occurred?"

"Yes."

"The hell you have!" exclaimed Conlon excitedly, not meaning, I think,
to be sarcastic. "Why, you haven't even been in there"--he referred to
Gertrude's boudoir--"or seen the body!"

"No," I responded, "but you and Doctor Askew have, so you can easily put
me right. Extraordinary as the whole thing is--the one deadly chance in
perhaps a million--there's nothing impossible about it. Merely from the
facts you've given me, Sergeant Conlon, I can reconstruct the whole
scene--come pretty near it, at any rate. But the strength of my
conviction is based on other grounds--don't lose sight of that! Miss
Blake didn't kill Mrs. Hunt; she's incapable of such an action; and if
she didn't, no one else did. An accident is the only alternative."

"Well, then," grunted Conlon, "tell us about it! It'll take some
tellin'!"

"Hold on!" exclaimed Doctor Askew before I could begin. "Sorry, Mr.
Hunt--but you remember, perhaps--when you