the dark, here," muttered Dr. Cumberly, fumbling for the
switch.

"Some one has turned the light out!" whispered Leroux, nervously; "I
left it on."

Dr. Cumberly pressed the switch, turning up the lobby light as Exel
entered from the landing. Then Leroux, entering the study first of the
three, switched on the light there, also.

One glance he threw about the room, then started back like a man
physically stricken.

"Cumberly!" he gasped, "Cumberly"--and he pointed to the furry heap by
the writing-table.

"You said she lay on the chesterfield," muttered Cumberly.

"I left her there."...

Dr. Cumberly crossed the room and dropped upon his knees. He turned the
white face toward the light, gently parted the civet fur, and pressed
his ear to the silken covering of the breast. He started slightly and
looked into the glazing eyes.

Replacing the fur which he had disarranged, the physician stood up and
fixed a keen gaze upon the face of Henry Leroux. The latter swallowed
noisily, moistening his parched lips.

"Is she"... he muttered; "is she"...

"God's mercy, Leroux!" whispered Mr. Exel--"what does this mean?"

"The woman is dead," said Dr. Cumberly.

In common with all medical men, Dr. Cumberly was a physiognomist; he was
a great physician and a proportionately great physiognomist. Therefore,
when he looked into Henry Leroux's eyes, he saw there, and recognized,
horror and consternation. With no further evidence than that furnished
by his own powers of perception, he knew that the mystery of this
woman's death was as inexplicable to Henry Leroux as it was inexplicable
to himself.

He was a masterful man, with the gray eyes of a diplomat, and he knew
Leroux as did few men. He laid both hands upon the novelist's shoulders.

"Brace up, old chap!" he said; "you will want all your wits about you."

"I left her," began Leroux, hesitatingly--"I left"...

"We know all about where you left her, Leroux," interrupted Cumberly;
"but what we want to get at is this: what occurred between the time you
left her, and the time of our return?"

Exel, who had walked across to the table, and with a horror-stricken
face was gingerly examining the victim, now exclaimed:--

"Why! Leroux! she is--she is... UNDRESSED!"

Leroux clutched at his dishevelled hair with both hands.

"My dear Exel!" he cried--"my dear, good man! Why do you use that tone?
You say 'she is undressed!' as though I were responsible for the poor
soul's co