them before. But ere long I grew oblivious even of the beauty of the
night, becoming absorbed in reflections respecting this most
extraordinary case.

Every new datum acquired, instead of serving to elucidate, seemed only
more completely to obscure the issue. Mystery revealed itself within
mystery, and this was indeed a labyrinth, to the heart of which I
sometimes despaired of penetrating. Who was this woman whose elusive
figure appeared at every turn in the case? Was she one and the same
with the visitor to my cottage who had purloined the green enameled
statuette--and could it be that I had actually sat in conversation
with her in the coffee-room of the Abbey Inn and had failed to
recognize her for what she was?

Beyond doubt she had extraordinary cleverness and was a weaver of
spells, so that in a sense she could temporarily disguise her
personality. Whilst at one moment she was a repellent, half-animal
creature, at another she was a fascinating woman of the world versed
in strange lores and a most entertaining companion. What object
underlay her diverse activities? Assuming that she was concerned in
the murder of Sir Marcus Coverly, the purpose of her visit to my
cottage was not far to seek; she had come to recover incriminating
evidence and had been aided, it seemed, by the hand of fate.

But why had she come to visit me at the Abbey Inn and what had she
gained by this interview? Perhaps--I reflected, as I plodded along the
deserted country road--she had been interrupted on that occasion by
the inopportune appearance of Dr. Damar Greefe. Again, why had he
appeared there at that moment if not because he had suspected her
presence at the Inn; and what was the relationship existing between
these two singular people?

That the strange story related to me by the idiotic Edward Hines
simply resolved itself into an idle adventure on the part of the
mysterious woman, which she had been forced to terminate (somewhat
ferociously, I admit) by the uncouth ardor of this rustic swain I
seemed to perceive. But unless her visit to the Abbey Inn portended
that she had selected me as Mr. Edward Hines' successor, I failed to
fit it into the scheme.

I began to long for the presence of Inspector Gatton, for the
assistance of his trained mind in plumbing these depths which defied
my single efforts. Who this woman could be I failed to imagine; and
assuming that she had been concerned in the death of the late baronet,
in what wa