"What! that was the night after I returned from Russia!" I exclaimed, involuntarily. "And the seal. Was that found upon her?" "It was. But hush! we may be overheard. Let us go in." Filled with horror and amazement, I followed him up the tortuous stairs of a house in close proximity to the spot. After mounting several flights in utter darkness, we entered an attic--as it proved on striking a match--containing only the scantiest possible furniture. In one corner stood a bed, and by it a broken wicker-bottomed chair. An old box was placed near the broken fireplace rusted by damp, and that, with a few other articles, formed the whole contents of the miserable apartment. He lighted the piece of candle which was upon the box, and after carefully closing the door, we sat down. Scarcely had we done this, however, than he fell forward with a crash upon the bare floor, the blood at the same time gushing out afresh from the wound at the back of the head, and forming a small pool. Greatly to my relief he spoke almost immediately, although in such low tones as to be scarcely audible. "It's useless to call for assistance, for the house is empty. Lay me on the bed, if you can, and I'll tell you all--everything." "But you are hurt, and must be attended to," I said. There was a pang at my heart all the time, for, with my selfish desire to solve the mystery at once, this new wound meant fresh delay. "If you leave me you will, on returning, find me dead. Lay me on the bed; keep quiet, and listen." Those were the words he spoke, and strangely calm and composed they seemed. With a precipitation which I have never ceased to deplore, I lifted him as he desired, and gave up the idea of trying to obtain medical aid at that hour in a quarter unknown to me. He was soon arranged as comfortably as possible. The spectacle he presented--spare, pale and gaunt, propped up on a squalid bed, the pillows all stained with blood--will never be erased from my memory. At a sign from him I snuffed the cheap candle and drew closer to his side. "A year ago on the fourth of next March," he commenced, speaking deliberately, but in a very weak voice, "my wife left me for a few hours. We were in utter poverty, for our little all had been stolen from us by my wife's brother-in-law. You may have guessed already that I was not always what I appear now. At one time--" "But," I interrupted, "had you not better tell me why you have brought me here, before--" "Before it is too late, eh? You're right. Well, my wife left me on a desperate errand. She went to ask for money from some one over whom she had a great hold--and--and she never came home." He paused to gain breath. My heart beat violently as I noted the great effort he had to make for respiration. "The man she went to see was--who?"