i_.

As I stood there--the watchful caretaker with his eye upon me,
wondering no doubt--I again took in every detail. My return held me
more than ever puzzled.

"What is the room beyond?" I asked.

"Oh! That's the mistress's bedroom," he replied. "A curious fancy to
have her room next to the library. But it's one of the best rooms in
the house. The master hates London. He lives all the time in Italy,
and is only over here just for a week or two in spring, and a week or
so before Christmas."

"I'd like to see that room," I said, affecting ignorance.

He took me in.

In a second I saw that nothing had been changed since I had stood
there at the death-bed of Gabrielle Engledue a little over a month
ago.

There was the handsome bed-chamber with its inlaid cupboards, its
great dressing-table, and its fine bed--the bed upon which the
beautiful young woman had been lying dead. But now the bed had been
re-made and its quilted coverlet of pale pink silk was undisturbed.

The corpse had been removed and buried upon my certificate!

I sniffed to see whether I could detect that curious odour of
_pot-pourri_, but in vain. The air seemed fresh and not stifling as it
had been on that well-remembered night.

Upon a side table stood a large photograph in a silver frame. I bent
to look at it, whereupon the caretaker said:

"That's a good photograph of Mr. De Gex, isn't it, sir?"

"Excellent," I said, for it was a really fine portrait. "Does your
mistress come over from Italy often?"

"Oh, yes, and she brings the little boy over with her. She is
frequently here, while her husband stays at Fiesole. I send on his
correspondence every day to Mr. Henderson, his secretary."

I stood gazing around the room. Upon that bed the beautiful girl lay
dead, and I had certified the cause of her death! Yet I had, later on,
been the victim of some devil's trick of which I knew nothing.

I was there to investigate. Yet though I questioned the caretaker very
closely, I confess that I met with little success. He was an old and
trusted servant of the family. Hence to many of my inquiries he
remained dumb.

"When do you expect your master back?" I asked at last.

"Oh, not for another six months or so."

"Where is Mrs. De Gex?"

"Ah! That I can't quite make out," he replied. "It's a bit of a
mystery. One night she went away quite unexpectedly and, as a matter
of fact, nobody knows where she is. Her husband doesn't know--or
pretends he