m. She gave no reasons for the
weird strangeness of the place, it was no time for explanations. As for
Steel, he gazed around him in fascinated astonishment. A novelist ever
on the look-out for new scenes and backgrounds, the aspect of the room
fascinated him. He saw the dust rising in clouds, he saw the wilted
flowers, he noted the overturned table, obviously untouched and
neglected for years, and he wondered. Then he heard the babel of
discordant voices overhead. What a sad house it was, and how dominant
was the note of tragedy.

Meanwhile, with no suspicion of the path he was treading, Bell had gone
upstairs. He came at length to the door of the room where the sick girl
lay. There was a subdued light inside and the faint suggestion of illness
that clings to the chamber of the sufferer. Bell caught a glimpse of a
white figure lying motionless in bed. It was years now since he had acted
thus in a professional capacity, but the old quietness and caution came
back by instinct. As he would have entered Margaret Henson came out and
closed the door.

"You are not going in there," she said. "No, no. Everything of mine
you touch you blight and wither. If the girl is to die, let her die
in peace."

She would have raised her voice high, but a lightning glance from Bell
quieted her. It was not exactly madness that he had to deal with, and he
knew it. The woman required firm, quiet treatment. Dr. Walker stood
alongside, anxious and nervous. The man with the quiet practice of the
well-to-do doctor was not used to scenes of this kind.

"You have something to conceal," Bell said, sternly. "Open the door."

"Really, my dear sir," Walker said, fussily. "Really, I fancy that under
the circumstances--"

"You don't understand this kind of case," Bell interrupted. "I do."

Walker dropped aside with a muttered apology. Bell approached the figure
in the doorway and whispered a few words rapidly in her ear. The effect
was electrical. The figure seemed to wilt and shrivel up, all the power
and resistance had gone. She stepped aside, moaning and wringing her
hands. She babbled of strange things; the old, far-away look came into
her eyes again.

Without a word of comment or sign of triumph Bell entered the sick room.
Then he raised his head and sniffed the heavy atmosphere as an eager
hound might have done. A quick, sharp question rose to his lips, only to
be instantly suppressed as he noted the vacant glance of his colleague.

The w