On arrival home I found I had lost my latch-key, and had therefore to seek the assistance of a locksmith before I could enter. An additional surprise was in store for me, for when I walked into my sitting-room, I discovered that burglars had effected an entrance during the night and ransacked the place. Every drawer in my writing-table had been turned out, and the contents investigated in a methodical manner, after which the thieves had apparently inspected a chest of drawers, a nest of pigeon-holes, several trunks, and one or two cupboards. The carpets had been disturbed, and every nook or corner where anything might be concealed had been turned out. Evidently the thieves had sought for something of value they believed I had in my possession, and were disappointed; for, as far as I could discover, they had stolen nothing. My first impulse was to send for the police, but on reflection I resolved to remain silent on this matter also. The days passed, but no announcement of the discovery of the body appeared in the papers. There was a possibility of something belonging to me being found in the house by the police. My pockets had been almost emptied on that night; but whether the contents had fallen out or been abstracted I was unable to determine. It was, however, certain that clues to my identity were not wanting, and I confess that the fearful suspicion that I was the actual murderer caused me constant and terrible anxiety. Inquiries I made regarding the house revealed that it belonged to a well-known baronet, who was abroad in the diplomatic service; that it had been to let furnished, but that for nearly five years it had remained unoccupied. With the object of recovering anything which might serve as evidence against me, I called upon the house-agent, and, representing myself as a likely tenant, obtained the key. The afternoon was wet and gloomy when I revisited the place. Being alone, I felt rather unnerved as I ascended the wide, old-fashioned stairs to the chamber of death; but when I entered the inner room I found, to my amazement, that the body was not there! It had mysteriously disappeared! All traces of the crime had been carefully obliterated. Even the portion of threadbare carpet that had been stained with blood had been cut out, revealing the dust-covered boards. The other apartments were just as I had left them, and in the drawing-room—where, by unknown means, I had so narrowly escaped death—the ashes of the charcoal still remained. A streak of grey light that came in over the top of the shutters enabled me to inspect the room, and, although I failed to find any of the missing contents of my pockets, I saw that the dust that lay thickly upon a little rosewood table had been disturbed. There was a small mark—the perfect imprint of a woman’s hand.