It was the usual style of thing;
a model lodging-house in Marylebone, a door locked for several days,
and a dead man in his chair when they broke in. 'The deceased,' said
the paragraph, 'was known as Charles Herbert, and is believed to have
been once a prosperous country gentleman. His name was familiar to the
public three years ago in connection with the mysterious death in Paul
Street, Tottenham Court Road, the deceased being the tenant of the
house Number 20, in the area of which a gentleman of good position was
found dead under circumstances not devoid of suspicion.' A tragic
ending, wasn't it? But after all, if what he told me were true, which
I am sure it was, the man's life was all a tragedy, and a tragedy of a
stranger sort than they put on the boards."

"And that is the story, is it?" said Clarke musingly.

"Yes, that is the story."

"Well, really, Villiers, I scarcely know what to say about it. There
are, no doubt, circumstances in the case which seem peculiar, the
finding of the dead man in the area of Herbert's house, for instance,
and the extraordinary opinion of the physician as to the cause of
death; but, after all, it is conceivable that the facts may be
explained in a straightforward manner. As to your own sensations, when
you went to see the house, I would suggest that they were due to a
vivid imagination; you must have been brooding, in a semi-conscious
way, over what you had heard. I don't exactly see what more can be
said or done in the matter; you evidently think there is a mystery of
some kind, but Herbert is dead; where then do you propose to look?"

"I propose to look for the woman; the woman whom he married. She is
the mystery."

The two men sat silent by the fireside; Clarke secretly congratulating
himself on having successfully kept up the character of advocate of the
commonplace, and Villiers wrapped in his gloomy fancies.

"I think I will have a cigarette," he said at last, and put his hand in
his pocket to feel for the cigarette-case.

"Ah!" he said, starting slightly, "I forgot I had something to show
you. You remember my saying that I had found a rather curious sketch
amongst the pile of old newspapers at the house in Paul Street? Here
it is."

Villiers drew out a small thin parcel from his pocket. It was covered
with brown paper, and secured with string, and the knots were
troublesome. In spite of himself Clarke felt inquisitive; he bent
forward on his chair as Vil