Secreted somewhere in the vicinity, Boyd was watching, but where I knew not. His surmise had unfortunately proved correct, I reflected, as the half-hour chimed. The man, whoever he was, was no fool. For five minutes longer I remained, when a sudden impatience seized me, and I folded my paper and rose. As I did so there came round the bend of the path, from the direction of the spot the mysterious voice had indicated, a slim figure in deep mourning, evidently a lady. She walked with an even swinging gait, not as one who was idling there, but as though with some fixed purpose. On her approach I saw that she was attired entirely in black, wearing a dress of the latest mode, the wide skirt of which rustled as she walked; a large hat with swaying feathers which at that moment struck me as somewhat funereal, and a thick spotted veil. Her black silk sunshade she carried on her arm, and as she came nearer I could not help being struck by her neatness of figure, her small waist, wide hips and well-moulded bust. I lingered at the seat to brush the dust from my coat, so that she might pass and allow me a glance of her face. She went by with a loud frou-frou of silken underskirt, and at that same instant I turned my gaze upon her and looked into her face. Next second I drew back, startled and aghast. Her hair was fair, her eyes large and blue, her features familiar. Even that thick veil could not conceal her marvellous beauty. I looked again, believing it to be some chimera of my disordered imagination. No. There was no mistake. It was an astounding, inexplicable truth. She was the woman I had discovered cold and dead in that house in Kensington on the previous night--the woman whose body had so strangely disappeared. For a few moments I stood rooted to the spot. The discovery held me petrified. Then, with sudden resolve, I moved forward and followed her. CHAPTER SEVEN. EVA GLASLYN. I glanced behind me, but saw no sign of Boyd. Of a sudden it crossed my mind that he had not been present at our first discovery; therefore, expecting a man to keep the appointment, he had allowed her to pass the spot unnoticed. The appearance of that neat figure before me, the figure of the woman over whose beauty I had mourned as dead, was in itself a most startling fact, adding still another feature to the already dark and inscrutable mystery. I wanted to have a word with Boyd and ask his advice, for I knew not how to act in such unexpected circumstances. One of the victims was actually keeping an appointment with an accomplice of the assassin, for there seemed no doubt that murder had been committed by some secret means.