"What do you make of it?" said Bruce. He looked the other steadily in the face and the doctor interpreted the cause of his anxiety. "A clear case of accidental poisoning," he replied. "Sir Charles has consulted me several times during the past week on account of his extreme insomnia. I specifically warned him against overdoing my treatment. Change of air, exercise, and diet are the true specifics for sleeplessness, especially when induced, as his was, by a morbid state of mind." "You mean--" "That Sir Charles has never recovered from the shock of his wife's death. I did not know of it myself until it was announced recently, and I gathered from him that the manner of her demise was partly unaccounted for. Altogether, it is a sad business that such a couple should be taken in such a manner." Mr. White was industriously taking notes the while, and the doctor regarded him with a questioning look. "This gentleman is in the police," explained Bruce. "Indeed!" "Yes. We came here by mere accident. Mr. White and I were engaged in an important inquiry--the cause of Lady Dyke's disappearance, in fact--and we hurried here at a late hour to consult with Sir Charles. Hence our presence and this discovery." "How strange!" "There is no reason now," broke in the detective, "why the body should not be moved?" Claude shuddered at the phrase. It suggested the inevitable. "Not in the least. I am quite satisfied as to the cause of death." The despatch of telegrams and other necessary details kept Bruce busily employed until two o'clock. Not until he reached the privacy of his own library was he able to break the seal of the packet left for him as the final act and word of the late Sir Charles Dyke. CHAPTER XXIX HOW LADY DYKE DISAPPEARED (_Being the Manuscript left by Sir Charles Dyke, Bart., and addressed to Claude Bruce, Esq., Barrister-at-law_) It is customary, I believe, for poor wretches who are sentenced to undergo the last punishment of the law to be allowed a three weeks' respite between the date of their sentence and that on which they are executed. I am in the position of such a one. The difference between me and the convicted felon lies merely in environment; in most respects I am worse situated than he. My period of agony is longer drawn out, I am condemned to die by my own hand, I am mocked by the surroundings of luxury, taunted by the knowledge that though life and even a sort of happiness are within my reach I must not avail myself of them.