"Certainly. You are in possession of two distinct facts which may lead us to a clue, not only to the murderer, but to the motive of your marriage to this mysterious wife of yours." "Does it strike you that the Major may be the actual assassin?" He was silent, puffing thoughtfully at his pipe. "No," he responded. "To tell you the truth, that isn't my theory." "Then what is?" I asked. "If Mrs Chetwode and this mysterious wife of yours are acting together, Tattersett cannot be the culprit. It would rather be to their interest to denounce him." I saw the trend of his argument, but nevertheless clung to my theory that the man who had in my hearing proposed murder had committed the crime. The mystery at Whitton, startling though it was, was quickly forgotten by the public. Several times, in the days that followed, I went down to Hounslow and held consultations with Bullen and his assistant, but no fresh discovery was made, for not the slightest clue presented itself. A verdict of "Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown" had been returned, and the matter left in the hands of the police. A week went past, but I could not decide whether it would be policy to call at Gloucester Square and have an interview with Beryl and her cousin. I recollected that the Colonel's widow had not given their names to the police--a fact full of significance, for it appeared as though she desired to conceal their visit to Whitton. I longed to see my love to speak with her, to hold her hand and bask in the sunshine of her smiles. She had defied the man who had tempted her to revenge, she had declared her intention of renouncing all the past. Ah, that past! If I could only glean something regarding it! If I could only stand by her as her champion without arousing any suspicion within her. This impulse to see her proved too strong. I could not resist it, therefore one day I went to Gloucester Square to make an afternoon call, but found the blinds down. "Her ladyship is out of town, sir," the maid-servant answered in response to my inquiry. "And Miss--Miss Ashwicke?" I said, quickly remembering that she had been introduced to me by that name. "Ashwicke," repeated the girl, puzzled. "There is no Miss Ashwicke in the family, sir." "Oh, of course," I said, rather lamely I fear; "it's my mistake. I meant Miss Wynd." "She's with her ladyship in Wiltshire, sir." "At Atworth?" "Yes, sir." "When did they leave?" "Three days ago, sir. Sir Henry went with them." "Did a young gentleman named Chetwode accompany them?" "I don't know, sir." "But you know Mr Chetwode, of course?" I said. "Oh yes, sir. They say he is to marry Miss Beryl," answered the girl, smiling. "And his mother is a frequent visitor also, isn't she." "Yes; she's here very often indeed." "And Major Tattersett?" "He's only been here once, I think--a long time ago. He's a round-faced gentleman who wears a single eyeglass, isn't he?"