that it is lodged somewhere in the vertical column.
Of course, I cannot be sure."

"The Government pathologist will clear up these points when he makes the
post-mortem examination," said Merrington. "I do not think we have any
more questions to ask you, doctor."

"How is your patient, the young husband?" asked Captain Stanhill, as Dr.
Holmes rose.

"The symptoms point to brain fever. The family, on my advice, have sent
to London for Sir Ralph Horton, the eminent brain doctor."

"I do not wonder his mind has given way under the shock," remarked
Captain Stanhill. "To lose his wife in such terrible circumstances after
three months' marriage must have been a cruel blow."

"It was the worse in his case because he has always been nervous and
highly strung from childhood--partly, I think, as the result of his
infirmity. He has a deformed foot. His present illness seems to be a
complete overthrow of the nervous system. I have been with him the
greater part of the night. He has been highly delirious, but he is a
little quieter now."

Merrington pricked up his ears at this last remark. After his fruitless
investigations of the morning he was inclined to think that the clue to
the murder lay in the past--it might be in some former folly or secret
intrigue of the young wife's single days. The question was, in that
case, whether the husband was likely to have any knowledge of his wife's
secret. If he had, he might, in his delirium, babble something which
would provide a clue to trace the murderer. It was a poor chance, but
the poorest chance was worth trying in such a baffling case.

"I should like to have a look at your patient," he said to Dr. Holmes.

"It would be impossible to question him in his present state," replied
the doctor stiffly.

"I do not wish to question him. I merely wish to look at him."

"In that case you may see him. He is quite unconscious, and recognizes
nobody. I will take you to his room, if you wish."

The little doctor bustled along the corridor, and turned into a passage
traversing the right wing of the moat-house. About half way down it he
paused before a door, which he opened softly, and motioned to the other
two to enter.

It was a single bedroom, panelled in oak, which was dark with age, with
one small window; but it had the advantage of being as far away as
possible from the upstairs bedroom in the left wing where Phil's wife
lay murdered. A small fire burnt in the grate, a china bowl o