o is she?"

"That was nothing," interposed the man hastily. "That was not a
quarrel."

"Just a little unpleasantness, I suppose, Mr. Goldstein?" suggested the
inspector.

"Just a little foolishness about a young man," said Mr. Goldstein. "That
was all. Miriam was a little jealous. But it was nothing."

"No, no. Of course. We all know that young women are apt to--"

A soft footstep had been for some time audible, slowly descending the
stair above, and at this moment a turn of the staircase brought the
newcomer into view. And at that vision the inspector stopped short as if
petrified, and a tense, startled silence fell upon us all. Down the
remaining stairs there advanced towards us a young woman, powerful
though short, wild-eyed, dishevelled, horror-stricken, and of a ghastly
pallor: and her hair was a fiery red.

Stock still and speechless we all stood as this apparition came slowly
towards us; but suddenly the detective slipped back into the room,
closing the door after him, to reappear a few moments later holding a
small paper packet, which, after a quick glance at the inspector, he
placed in his breast pocket.

"This is my daughter Miriam that we spoke about, gentlemen," said Mr.
Goldstein. "Miriam, those are the doctors and the police."

The girl looked at us from one to the other. "You have seen her, then,"
she said in a strange, muffled voice, and added: "She isn't dead, is
she? Not really dead?" The question was asked in a tone at once coaxing
and despairing, such as a distracted mother might use over the corpse of
her child. It filled me with vague discomfort, and, unconsciously, I
looked round towards Thorndyke.

To my surprise he had vanished.

Noiselessly backing towards the head of the stairs, where I could
command a view of the hall, or passage, I looked down, and saw him in
the act of reaching up to a shelf behind the street door. He caught my
eye, and beckoned, whereupon I crept away unnoticed by the party on the
landing. When I reached the hall, he was wrapping up three small
objects, each in a separate cigarette-paper; and I noticed that he
handled them with more than ordinary tenderness.

"We didn't want to see that poor devil of a girl arrested," said he, as
he deposited the three little packets gingerly in his pocket-box. "Let
us be off." He opened the door noiselessly, and stood for a moment,
turning the latch backwards and forwards, and closely examining its
bolt.

I glanced up at t