oroner. "It would
certainly appear that the lady who lost her life was a stranger to
London."

"That is what we believe, sir," Edwards replied. Seated near him, I saw
how keen and shrewd was the expression upon his face. "We have evidence
that certain persons visited the flat on the night in question, but these
have not yet been identified. The owner of the flat has not yet been
found, he having absconded."

"Gone abroad, I suppose?"

"It would appear so, sir."

"And his description has been circulated also?" asked the coroner.

"Yes, a detailed description, together with a recent photograph," was
Edwards' reply. Then he added: "We have received this at Scotland Yard,
sir--an anonymous communication which may or may not throw considerable
light on to the affair," and he handed a letter on blue paper to the
coroner, which the latter perused curiously, afterwards passing it over
to the foreman of the jury.

"Rather remarkable!" he exclaimed.

Then, when the jury had completed reading the anonymous letter,
addressing them, he said:

"It is not for you, gentlemen, to regard that letter in the light of
evidence, but, nevertheless, it raises a very curious and mysterious
point. The writer, as you will note, is prepared to reveal the truth of
the whole affair in return for a monetary reward. It is, of course, a
matter to be left entirely at the discretion of the police."

I started at this statement, and gazed across the court--dull and
cheerless on that cold winter's afternoon.

Who had written that anonymous letter? Who could it be who was ready to
reveal the truth if paid for doing so?

Was Phrida's terrible secret known?

I held my breath, and listened to the slow, hard words of the coroner, as
he again addressed some questions to the great detective.

"Yes, sir," Edwards was saying. "There is distinct evidence of the
presence at the flat on the night in question of some person--a woman
whose identity we have not yet been successful in establishing. We,
however, have formed a theory which certainly appears to be borne out by
the writer of the letter I have just handed you."

"That the unknown was struck down by the hand of a woman--eh?" asked the
Coroner, looking sharply across at the Inspector, who briefly replied in
the affirmative, while I sat staring straight before me, like a man in a
dream.

I heard the Coroner addressing the jury in hard, business-like tones, but
I know not what he said. My heart