n's pressing invitation to stay to
lunch, he took himself off, and my host, his niece, and myself
continued our investigations. These lasted until the lunch hour--they
afforded us abundant scope for conversation, too, and kept us from
any reference to the grim tragedy of the early morning.

Mr. Cazalette made no appearance at lunch. I heard a footman inform
Miss Raven, in answer to her inquiry, that he had just taken Mr.
Cazalette's beef-tea to his room and that he required nothing else.
And I did not see him again until late that afternoon, when, as the
rest of us were gathered about the tea-table in the hall, before a
cheery fire, he suddenly appeared, a smile of grim satisfaction on his
queer old face. He took his usual cup of tea and dry biscuit and sat
down in silence. But by that time I was getting inquisitive.

"Well, Mr. Cazalette," I said, "have you brought your photographic
investigations to any successful conclusion?"

"Yes, Mr. Cazalette," chimed in Miss Raven, whom I had told of the old
man's odd fancy about the scratches on the lid of the tobacco-box.
"We're dying to know if you've found out anything. Have you--and what
is it?"

He gave us a knowing glance over the rim of his tea-cup.

"Aye!" he said. "Young folks are full of curiosity. But I'm not going
to say what I've discovered, nor how far my investigations have gone.
Ye must just die a bit more, Miss Raven, and maybe when ye're on the
point of demise I'll resuscitate ye with the startling news of my
great achievements."

I knew by that time that when Mr. Cazalette relapsed into his native
Scotch he was most serious, and that his bantering tone was assumed as
a cloak. It was clear that we were not going to get anything out of
him just then. But Mr. Raven tried another tack, fishing for
information.

"You really think those marks were made of a purpose, Cazalette?" he
suggested. "You think they were intentional?"

"I'll not say anything at present," answered Mr. Cazalette. "The
experiment is in course of process. But I'll say this, as a student of
this sort of thing--yon murderer was far from the ordinary."

Miss Raven shuddered a little.

"I hope the man who did it is not hanging about!" she said.

Mr. Cazalette shook his head with a knowing gesture.

"Ye need have no fear of that, lassie!" he remarked. "The man that did
it had put a good many miles between himself and his victim long
before Middlebrook there made his remarkable discove