ll take charge of the body. As
for the rest of you, I forbid you to mention this matter outside."

And now Bray stood looking, with a puzzled air, at me.

"You are an American?" he said, and I judged he did not care for
Americans.

"I am," I told him.

"Know any one at your consulate?" he demanded.

Thank heaven, I did! There is an under-secretary there named Watson--I
went to college with him. I mentioned him to Bray.

"Very good," said the inspector. "You are free to go. But you must
understand that you are an important witness in this case, and if you
attempt to leave London you will be locked up."

So I came back to my rooms, horribly entangled in a mystery that is
little to my liking. I have been sitting here in my study for some time,
going over it again and again. There have been many footsteps on the
stairs, many voices in the hall.

Waiting here for the dawn, I have come to be very sorry for the cold
handsome captain. After all, he was a man; his very tread on the floor
above, which it shall never hear again, told me that.

What does it all mean? Who was the man in the hall, the man who had
argued so loudly, who had struck so surely with that queer Indian knife?
Where is the knife now?

And, above all, what do the white asters signify? And the scarab
scarf-pin? And that absurd Homburg hat?

Lady of the Carlton, you wanted mystery. When I wrote that first letter
to you, little did I dream that I should soon have it to give you in
overwhelming measure.

And--believe me when I say it--through all this your face has been
constantly before me--your face as I saw it that bright morning in the
hotel breakfast room. You have forgiven me, I know, for the manner
in which I addressed you. I had seen your eyes and the temptation was
great--very great.

It is dawn in the garden now and London is beginning to stir. So this
time it is--good morning, my lady.

THE STRAWBERRY MAN.

CHAPTER IV

It is hardly necessary to intimate that this letter came as something of
a shock to the young woman who received it. For the rest of that day the
many sights of London held little interest for her--so little, indeed,
that her perspiring father began to see visions of his beloved Texas;
and once hopefully suggested an early return home. The coolness with
which this idea was received plainly showed him that he was on the wrong
track; so he sighed and sought solace at the bar.

That night the two from Texas attende