"Well," I said, "Mr Ashwicke lived here until a short time ago, that's very certain. I feel sure I haven't mistaken the house; I used to be a visitor here. Would you mind me glancing at some of the rooms?" He eyed me with distinct suspicion. "No," I laughed, "I'm not a swell mobsman, nor a burglar on the look-out for a likely house to rob--I'm a doctor." And, to convince him, I took off my silk hat and displayed my stethoscope in the lining, as well as giving him a card. "Well," he answered, rather ill-manneredly, "I don't see why I should satisfy you. You aren't a friend of Mrs Stentiford's?" "No," I admitted; "but I only desire a glance at the library and at the bedrooms upstairs, just to satisfy my curiosity." "Why?" "Well, to tell you the truth, there occurred here, in this house, an incident which was the crisis of my life. For that reason I am full of curiosity to see the rooms again, and I ask you as a favour to allow me to do so." "Very well," he said at last, after a moment's hesitation, "come along. You say you want to see the library." And I followed him down the hall, at the end of which he opened a door. I went in and looked around. Yes; it was the same. Nothing had apparently been moved. I looked into the dining-room--that same handsome apartment in which champagne had been drunk to my health and happiness. Bah! what a mockery it had been! We went into several of the other rooms after that, and all of them were, I found, well furnished in a style rather out-of-date but nevertheless comfortable. "And how long have you been in Mrs Stentiford's service?" I inquired, as we descended the stairs. "Just a fortnight." "You're a police-officer, aren't you?" I inquired. "Yes--a sergeant," he answered. "But how do you know?" "Oh," I answered, laughing, "when a man's been in the police there's little mistake about it. We doctors have our eyes open, you know." He smiled, but was apparently surprised that I should have detected his calling. "There are none of the other servants here, I suppose?" "No--none. Why?" "Because I'm anxious to find out whether Mrs Stentiford has ever let her house furnished." "I don't think so." "What gives you that impression?" "Because before she went away she told me that she preferred to close the place and pay me, rather than to let her things be ruined by strangers." "And I suppose you've heard from neighbours about the house?" "Yes," he replied; "I've heard that a gentleman lived here about four years ago--I think the name was Ashwicke." "But he was living here a few weeks ago," I declared; "I visited him here." The retired police-sergeant looked at me incredibly. "I think you must be mistaken. Mrs Stentiford was certainly occupying the house then." "But you were not here?" "No; I wasn't here, that's true." "She might have let it for a few weeks, during the London season--eh?"