he household's
mail?"

"Yes, sir."

"What became of it, then--the grey envelope?"

"I'm sure I can't say, sir, unless some one got it before I reached the
mail basket."

Hastings stood up. Interrogation of both master and man had given him
nothing save the inescapable conviction that both of them resented his
questioning and would do nothing to help him. The reason for this
opposition he could not grasp, but it was a fact, challenging his
analysis. Arthur Sloane rejected his proffered help in the pursuit of
the man who had brought murder to the doors of Sloanehurst. Why? Was
this his method of hiding facts in his possession?

Hastings questioned him again:

"Your waking up at that unusual hour last night--was it because of a
noise outside?"

The neurasthenic, once more recumbent, succeeded in voicing faint denial
of having heard any noises, outside or inside. Nor had he been aware of
the murder until called by Judge Wilton. He had turned on his light to
find the smelling-salts which, for the first time in six years, Jarvis
had failed to leave on his bed-table,--terrible and ill-trained apes!
Couldn't he be left in peace?

The hall door opened, admitting Judge Wilton. The newcomer, with a word
of greeting to Hastings, sat down on the bedside and put a hand on
Sloane's shoulder.

Hastings turned to leave the room.

"Any news?" the judge asked him.

"I've just been asking Mr. Sloane that," Hastings said, in a tone that
made Wilton look swiftly at his friend's face.

"I told Arthur this morning," he said, "how lucky he was that you'd
promised Lucille to go into this thing."

"Apparently," Hastings retorted drily, "he's unconvinced of the extent
of his good fortune."

Mr. Sloane, quivering from head to foot, mourned softly: "Unfathomable
fate!"

Wilton, his rugged features softening to frank amusement, stared a
moment in silence at Sloane's thin face, at the deeply lined forehead
topped by stringy grey hair.

"See here, Arthur," he protested, nodding Hastings an invitation to
remain; "you know as much about crime as Hastings and I. If you've
thought about this murder at all, you must see what it is. If Russell
isn't guilty--if he's not the man, that crime was committed shrewdly,
with forethought. And it was a devilish thing--devilish!"

"Well, what of it?" Sloane protested shrilly, not opening his eyes.

"Take my advice. Quit antagonizing Mr. Hastings. Be thankful that he's
here, that he's promised