nk."

"An accident!" I exclaimed in consternation. "He wrote to me the other
day, but did not mention it."

"He's been trying his hand at unravelling the mystery of poor
Courtenay's death, hasn't he?" the old man asked.

"I believe so?"

"And failed--eh?"

"I don't think his efforts have been crowned with very much success,
although he has told me nothing," I said.

In response the old man grunted in dissatisfaction. I knew how
disgusted he had been at the bungling and utter failure of the police
inquiries, for he was always declaring Scotland Yard seemed to be
useless, save for the recovery of articles left in cabs.

He glanced at his watch, snatched up his silk hat, buttoned his coat,
and, wishing me good-bye, went out to catch the Pullman train.

Next day about two o'clock I was in one of the wards at Guy's, seeing
the last of my patients, when a telegram was handed to me by one of
the nurses.

I tore it open eagerly, expecting that it was from Ethelwynn,
announcing the hour of her arrival at Paddington.

But the message upon which my eyes fell was so astounding, so
appalling, and so tragic that my heart stood still.

The few words upon the flimsy paper increased the mystery to an even
more bewildering degree than before!

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE MYSTERY OF MARY.

The astounding message, despatched from Neneford and signed by
Parkinson, the butler, ran as follows:--

_"Regret to inform you that Mrs. Courtenay was found drowned
in the river this morning. Can you come here? My mistress
very anxious to see you."_

Without a moment's delay I sent a reply in the affirmative, and, after
searching in the "A.B.C.," found that I had a train at three o'clock
from King's Cross. This I took, and after an anxious journey arrived
duly at the Manor, all the blinds of which were closely drawn.

Parkinson, white-faced and agitated, a thin, nervous figure in a coat
too large for him, had been watching my approach up the drive, and
held open the door for me.

"Ah, Doctor!" the old fellow gasped. "It's terrible--terrible! To
think that poor Miss Mary should die like that!"

"Tell me all about it," I demanded, quickly. "Come!" and I led the way
into the morning room.

"We don't know anything about it, sir; it's all a mystery," the
grey-faced old man replied. "When one of the housemaids went up to
Miss Mary's room at eight o'clock this morning to take her tea, as
usual, she received no answer