other was held to his side
by Styles) he touched his ears and his lips, and violently shook his
head.

There was but one interpretation to be given to this. The man was deaf
and dumb.

The shock of this discovery was too much for Styles. His hand fell from
the other's arms, and the man, finding himself free, withdrew to his
former place in the room, where he proceeded to enact again and with
increased vivacity first the killing of and then the mourning for his
master, which but a few moments before had made so suggestive an
impression upon them. This done, he stood waiting, but this time with
that gleam of infernal joy in the depths of his quick, restless eyes
which made his very presence in this room of death seem a sacrilege and
horror.

Styles could not stand it. "Can't you speak?" he shouted. "Can't you
hear?"

The man only smiled, an evil and gloating smile, which Mr. Gryce thought
it his duty to cut short.

"Take him away!" he cried. "Examine him carefully for blood marks. I am
going up to the room where you saw him first. He is too nearly linked to
this crime not to carry some trace of it away with him."

But for once even this time-tried detective found himself at fault. No
marks were found on the old servant, nor could they discover in the
rooms above any signs by which this one remaining occupant of the house
could be directly associated with the crime which had taken place within
it. Thereupon Mr. Gryce grew very thoughtful and entered upon another
examination of the two rooms which to his mind held all the clews that
would ever be given to this strange crime.

The result was meagre, and he was just losing himself again in
contemplation of the upturned face, whose fixed mouth and haunting
expression told such a story of suffering and determination, when there
came from the dim recesses above his head a cry, which, forming itself
into two words, rang down with startling clearness in this most
unexpected of appeals:

"Remember Evelyn!"

Remember Evelyn! Who was Evelyn? And to whom did this voice belong, in a
house which had already been ransacked in vain for other occupants? It
seemed to come from the roof, and, sure enough, when Mr. Gryce looked up
he saw, swinging in a cage strung up nearly to the top of one of the
windows I have mentioned, an English starling, which, in seeming
recognition of the attention it had drawn upon itself, craned its neck
as Mr. Gryce looked up, and shrieked again, wit