The baronet obviously nerved himself to ask the question. The reason was patent. His wife's inexplicable visit to that locality was in some way connected with her fate, and the common-sense view was that some intrigue lay hidden behind the impenetrable wall of ignorance that shrouded her final movements. Bruce hesitated for a moment. Was there any need to bring Mrs. Hillmer's name into the business? At any rate, he could fully answer Sir Charles without mentioning her at this juncture. "The only person in Raleigh Mansions who interests me just now is one who, to use a convenient bull, is not there." "Yes?" "This person occupies a flat in No. 12, his name is Sydney H. Corbett, and he left his residence for the Riviera two days after your wife was lost." "Now, who on earth can _he_ be? I am as sure as a man may be of anything that no one of that name was in the remotest way connected with either my wife or myself for the last--let me see--six years, at any rate." "Possibly. But you cannot say that Lady Dyke may not have met him previously?" The baronet winced at the allusion as though a whip had struck him. "For heaven's sake, Claude," he cried, "do not harbor suspicions against her. I cannot bear it. I tell you my whole soul revolts at the idea. I would rather be suspected of having killed her myself than listen to a word whispered against her good name." "I sympathize with you, but you must not jump at me in that fashion. One hypothesis is as wildly impossible as the other. I did not say that Lady Dyke went to Raleigh Mansions on account of some present or bygone transgression of her own. I would as soon think of my mother in such a connection. But a pure, good woman will often do on behalf of others what she will not do for herself. Really, Dyke, you must not be unjust to me, especially when you force me to tell you what may prove to be mere theories." "Others? What others?" "I cannot say. I wish I could. If I once lay hold of the reason that brought Lady Dyke to Raleigh Mansions, I will, within twenty-four hours, tell you who murdered her. Of that I am as certain as that the sun will rise to-morrow." And the barrister poked the fire viciously to give vent to the annoyance that his friend's outburst had provoked. "Pardon me, Bruce. Do not forget how I have suffered--what I am suffering--and try to bear with me. I never valued my wife while she lived. It is only now that I feel the extent of my loss. If my own life would only restore her to me for an instant I would cheerfully give it." If ever man meant his words this man did. His agitation moved the kindly hearted barrister to rise and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I am sorry, Dyke," he said, "that the conversation has taken this turn. These speculative guesses at potential clues distress you. If you took my advice, you would not worry about events until at least something tangible turns up."