Signor Mannetti knows a great deal more about the Grey Room than he has
let us imagine."

"How can he possibly do that?" asked his uncle.

"Time will show; but I'm going to back him." At eleven o'clock on the
following morning the visitor appeared. He walked with a gold-headed,
ebony cane and dressed in a fashion of earlier days. He was alert and
keen; his mind had no difficulty in concentrating on his subject. It
appeared that he had all particulars at his fingers' ends, and he went
back into the history of the Grey Room as far as Sir Walter was able to
take him.

"We are dealing with five victims to our certain knowledge," he said,
"for there is very little doubt that all must have suffered the same
death and under the same circumstances."

"Four victims, signor."

"You forget your aged relative--the lady who came to spend Christmas
with your father, when you were a boy, and was found dead on the floor.
Colonel Vane, however, recollected her, because you had mentioned her
when telling the story of Mrs. Forrester--Nurse Forrester."

"I never associated my aged aunt with subsequent tragedies--nobody did."

"Nevertheless, it was not old age and a good dinner that ended her life.
She, too, perished by an assassin."

"You still speak of crime."

"If I am not mistaken, then 'crime' is the only word."

"But, forgive me, is it imaginable that the same criminal could destroy
three men last year and kill an old woman more than sixty years ago?"

"Quite possible. You do not see? Then I hope to have the privilege of
showing you presently."

"It would seem, then, that the malignant thing is really undying--as
poor May believed--a conscious being hidden there, but beyond our sight
and knowledge?"

"No, no, my friend. Let me be frank. I have no theory that embraces
either a good or evil spirit. Believe me, there are fewer things in
heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy. Man has burdened
his brain with an infinite deal of rubbish of his own manufacture. Much
of his principle and practice is built on myths and dreams. He is a
credulous creature, and insanely tenacious to tradition; but I say
to you, suspect tradition at every turn, and the more ancient the
tradition, the more mistrust it. We harbor a great deal too much of the
savage still in us--we still carry about far more of his mental lumber
and nonsense than we imagine. Intellect should simplify rather than
complicate, and those to come will loo