found one morning in his
dressing-room, hanging from a peg affixed to the wall, and Mr.
Collier-Stuart and Mr. Herries had chosen to die as Lord Argentine.
There was no explanation in either case; a few bald facts; a living man
in the evening, and a body with a black swollen face in the morning.
The police had been forced to confess themselves powerless to arrest or
to explain the sordid murders of Whitechapel; but before the horrible
suicides of Piccadilly and Mayfair they were dumbfoundered, for not
even the mere ferocity which did duty as an explanation of the crimes
of the East End, could be of service in the West. Each of these men who
had resolved to die a tortured shameful death was rich, prosperous, and
to all appearances in love with the world, and not the acutest research
should ferret out any shadow of a lurking motive in either case. There
was a horror in the air, and men looked at one another's faces when
they met, each wondering whether the other was to be the victim of the
fifth nameless tragedy. Journalists sought in vain for their scrapbooks
for materials whereof to concoct reminiscent articles; and the morning
paper was unfolded in many a house with a feeling of awe; no man knew
when or where the next blow would light.

A short while after the last of these terrible events, Austin came to
see Mr. Villiers. He was curious to know whether Villiers had
succeeded in discovering any fresh traces of Mrs. Herbert, either
through Clarke or by other sources, and he asked the question soon
after he had sat down.

"No," said Villiers, "I wrote to Clarke, but he remains obdurate, and I
have tried other channels, but without any result. I can't find out
what became of Helen Vaughan after she left Paul Street, but I think
she must have gone abroad. But to tell the truth, Austin, I haven't
paid much attention to the matter for the last few weeks; I knew poor
Herries intimately, and his terrible death has been a great shock to
me, a great shock."

"I can well believe it," answered Austin gravely, "you know Argentine
was a friend of mine. If I remember rightly, we were speaking of him
that day you came to my rooms."

"Yes; it was in connection with that house in Ashley Street, Mrs.
Beaumont's house. You said something about Argentine's dining there."

"Quite so. Of course you know it was there Argentine dined the night
before--before his death."

"No, I had not heard that."

"Oh, yes; the name was kept