"Well," she answered, "when I entered, after the departure of the visitor, and discovered my cousin lying on the floor unconscious, I was quite well; but when I left I experienced a most curious sensation, just as though all my limbs were benumbed. I, too, almost lost consciousness while in the cab in search of Doctor Colkirk. But the most curious part of the affair is that my maid and the housemaid, who rushed in when I raised the alarm, experienced the very same sensation. It was as though we were struck by an icy hand--the Hand of Death." "There is something very uncanny about that," I observed, puzzled. "To me it seems as though poor Beryl were struck down in the same way as myself." "But you say that you felt nothing on entering--only on leaving?" inquired Hoefer, his eyes seeming to grow larger behind his great glasses. "Only on leaving," she assured him. "Strange!" he ejaculated. "Let us see the room. We may, perhaps, obtain a clue to this mysterious ailment from which your cousin is suffering." "But she is not dead?" I asked in doubt. "No," he responded. "The last injection must be given time to take effect. We can only hope for the best." "But the electric battery?" I suggested. "Could we not try that?" "Useless, my dear friend," he responded; "it would kill her. Let us see the room of mystery." The baronet's wife conducted us along the hall to the further end, where she opened the door, herself drawing back. "What!" I inquired. "You fear to enter?" "Yes," she faltered. "I will remain here." "Very well. We will go in," I laughed, for the idea seemed so absurd that both Hoefer and myself put it down to her excited imagination. What ill effect could the mere entry into a room have upon the human system, providing there were no foul gases? Therefore we both went forward, sniffing suspiciously, and walking to the window, opened it widely. The half-dozen lights in the electrolier illuminated the place brightly, revealing a fine, handsome room furnished with taste and comfort. On looking round we certainly saw nothing to account for the extraordinary phenomena as described by the trembling woman who stood upon the mat outside. While we made a careful examination of the place in which my love had met her strange visitor, the door, creaking horribly, swung slowly to, as doors often will when badly hung. Hoefer examined the floor carefully, seeking to discover whether the unknown woman in black had dropped anything that might give a clue to her identity, while I searched the chairs for the same purpose. We, however, found nothing. What, I wondered, was the nature of the interview that had taken place there a couple of hours before? Who was the woman who had called and represented herself as Beryl's dressmaker? Could it have been the woman whose vengeance was so feared, the woman whose very name had been uttered by that miscreant with bated breath--La Gioia?