The magnetism was not in her, it was in the objects, and as she turned from one to the other I also turned--as though I were a piece of machinery and she was setting me in motion. But it is likely that my eyes would have wandered in those directions without her silent prompting. One peculiarity of the fascination--growing more horrible every moment--exercised by the three objects, was that I could not look upon the one without being compelled to complete the triangle formed by the positions in which they were placed--the wall, the window, the mantelshelf. "It was Devlin, then," I said, "who painted the portraits and stuffed the bird and gave you the stone monster?" "You've guessed it, sir. It was him." Referring to the entry in the memorandum-book, I asked, "Did this Devlin call for your husband on the Thursday morning that they went out together?" "No, sir, he lodged here." "Does he lodge here now?" "Yes, sir, I am sorry to say. If I could only see the last of him I'd give thanks on my bended knees morning, noon, and night." "Why don't you get rid of him, then?" "I can't, sir." I accepted this as part of the mystery, and did not press her on the point, but I asked why she would feel so grateful if he were gone from the house. "Because," she replied, "it's all through him that Lemon is as he is." "Am I to see this man before I leave?" "It ain't for me to say, sir." "Is he in the house now?" "No, sir." I inwardly resolved if he came into the house before I left it, that I would see the man of whom Mrs. Lemon so evidently stood in dread. "I suppose, Fanny, you will tell me something more of him." "That is why I asked you to come, sir. If you're to do any good in this dreadful affair, you must know as much as I do about him." "Very well, Fanny." I referred again to the first entry in the diary. "After stating that your husband went out with Devlin at nine o'clock in the morning, you say that he returned alone at six o'clock in the evening, and that he did not stir out of the house again on that night." "Yes, sir." "I see that you have made a record of the time Lemon went to bed and the time he rose next morning." "To which, sir, I am ready to take my gospel oath." "Supposing your gospel oath to be necessary." "It might be. God only knows!" I stared at her, beginning to doubt whether she was sane; but there was nothing in her face to justify my suspicion. The expression I saw on it was one of solemn, painful, intense earnestness. "Go on, sir," she said, "if you please." I turned again to the concluding words of the first entry, and read them aloud: "Devlin did not come home all night. I locked the street-door myself, and put up the chain. I went down at seven in the morning, when Lemon was asleep, and the chain was up. I went to Devlin's room, the second floor front, and Devlin was not there!" "That's true, sir. I can take my gospel oath of that."