see into
the after-cabin quite distinctly, and just at that portion of it, too,
where were situated the state-rooms of Mr. Wyatt. Well, during two
nights (not consecutive) while I lay awake, I clearly saw Mrs. W., about
eleven o'clock upon each night, steal cautiously from the state-room
of Mr. W., and enter the extra room, where she remained until daybreak,
when she was called by her husband and went back. That they were
virtually separated was clear. They had separate apartments--no doubt in
contemplation of a more permanent divorce; and here, after all I thought
was the mystery of the extra state-room.

There was another circumstance, too, which interested me much.
During the two wakeful nights in question, and immediately after the
disappearance of Mrs. Wyatt into the extra state-room, I was attracted
by certain singular cautious, subdued noises in that of her husband.
After listening to them for some time, with thoughtful attention, I at
length succeeded perfectly in translating their import. They were sounds
occasioned by the artist in prying open the oblong box, by means of a
chisel and mallet--the latter being apparently muffled, or deadened, by
some soft woollen or cotton substance in which its head was enveloped.

In this manner I fancied I could distinguish the precise moment when he
fairly disengaged the lid--also, that I could determine when he removed
it altogether, and when he deposited it upon the lower berth in his
room; this latter point I knew, for example, by certain slight taps
which the lid made in striking against the wooden edges of the berth, as
he endeavored to lay it down very gently--there being no room for it on
the floor. After this there was a dead stillness, and I heard nothing
more, upon either occasion, until nearly daybreak; unless, perhaps, I
may mention a low sobbing, or murmuring sound, so very much suppressed
as to be nearly inaudible--if, indeed, the whole of this latter noise
were not rather produced by my own imagination. I say it seemed to
resemble sobbing or sighing--but, of course, it could not have been
either. I rather think it was a ringing in my own ears. Mr. Wyatt, no
doubt, according to custom, was merely giving the rein to one of his
hobbies--indulging in one of his fits of artistic enthusiasm. He had
opened his oblong box, in order to feast his eyes on the pictorial
treasure within. There was nothing in this, however, to make him sob.
I repeat, therefore, that it mus