window open if she could help it. She disliked
fresh air. She was always afraid of catching cold."

Musard looked out of the window into the velvet darkness of the night.

"If the window was closed before, the murderer has opened it and escaped
through it," he said.

"It is hardly possible."

"Why not?" He turned round and faced her.

"The ground falls on that side. The window is nearly twenty feet from
the ground. And--there is the moat to be crossed. There is no bridge on
that side of the house, and this window opens on the garden. Don't you
remember?"

"I remember now."

"I thought you would."

"Still----" Musard broke off abruptly, and walked away from the window.

Near the window stood the dressing-table. The swing oval mirror
reflected its contents--ivory brushes, silver hand mirrors, all the
costly bijoutry of a refined woman's toilet. Among them stood Violet's
silver jewel-case. Musard strode over and examined the case. It was
locked.

"This ought to be put away," he said.

"I was coming up to get it when I heard the scream," whispered his
companion.

"Perhaps you will take charge of it now," he said, placing it in her
hands. As he did so there flashed across his mind the cynical
appropriateness of the old proverb about locking doors after stolen
steeds.

There was a restraint and lack of spontaneity about their conversation
of which both were acutely conscious. The note was forced, as though
from too great an effort to strike the right key. A curious
psychological change had swept over both since they stood together by
the bedside of the dying woman. It had come with the entry of death.
They conversed hurriedly and guardedly, as if they mistrusted each
other. In each of them two entities were now apparent--a surface
consciousness, which talked and acted mechanically, and a secondary
inner consciousness, watchful, and fearful of misinterpretation of the
spoken word. The faculties which make up the human mind are different
and complex, and mysteriously blended. It may be that when tragedy
upsets the frail structure of human life the brute instincts of
watchfulness and self-preservation come uppermost, guarding against
chance suspicion, or the loud word of accusation. Perhaps through
Musard's mind was passing the thought of the strange manner in which the
murder had been committed, and how he, by detaining everybody downstairs
at the dinner table while he told his story had been an instrument in