"I can thwart their vile plot, even now!" I said bitterly, holding the piece of wax in my hand, and gazing upon it. "I will see Vera and first give her an opportunity to justify herself. If it is unsatisfactory I shall then give information to the police, and have the murderer arrested," and I even smiled at the thought that, after all, I held the trump card. Just at that moment the door opened, a head was poked in, and a voice exclaimed: "Halloa, old fellow, why you look as if you hadn't been to bed! I heard somebody chattering, and thought there must be visitors, yet it's rather early. Talking to yourself, it seems." "What's the time?" I exclaimed rather brusquely, at the same moment taking out my watch. "Half-past five," he replied. "Coming out with me for a walk? A stretch at this hour of the morning will do you good." "No, thanks; I'm not an athlete," I replied. "Very well. But, by Jove, what's the matter with you this morning? If you'd had a bad night at baccarat and were stone broke you couldn't look worse." "Matter with me? Nothing!" I replied, endeavouring to smile, "except that I've been very busy writing." "Take my tip and go to bed, old fellow. A couple of hours there will freshen you up wonderfully. But, good-bye, if you won't come for a stroll." "Good-bye: see you at breakfast," I replied abruptly, as the head withdrew and the door closed. The intruder was Demetrius Hertzen, Vera's cousin, a tall, broad-shouldered fellow about my own age, who had an abundance of spirits, which made him a most agreeable companion. In response to my invitation he had arrived from Brussels a fortnight previously, and had signified his ability to remain my guest for another month. I had only met him once before, at our marriage, but when he had been with us a few days, I found he had many tastes in common with myself,--that he knew London quite as well as Paris or Brussels, and that although used to rather fast society perhaps, he was nevertheless a thoroughly good fellow. Vera and he had been children together, and laughingly admitted they were sweethearts before they had gained their teens, but that when Demetrius arrived at the mature age of fifteen he transferred his affections. Cautiously I had approached my guest with a view to learn something of his cousin's past, but he seemed remarkably shrewd, and carefully warded off every indirect question I put to him on the subject. Possibly it was at Vera's request that he would not tell me what he knew, yet upon this matter only was he silent, as he conversed freely of his own doings and acquaintances, and of his life since leaving the paternal roof, for though a Russian, he spoke English almost perfectly, and only in certain words could the accent be detected.