They could hear quite plainly, for the pair at the end of the room had moved unthinkingly near them, and Spolger was talking shrilly to Mr. Marson about the man of whom they were then thinking. "He came up to see me before he went away. I was very ill, but he would see me, and we had a most agitating interview. Told me that he loved Florry--told me, her affianced husband. Said that she would never marry me--that he could prevent the marriage. Then he insulted me. Yes! held out a box of pills, and asked me if I had any ideas beyond such things. I knocked the box out of his hand and insisted upon his leaving the house. He went, for I was firm--very firm though much agitated. He left the box behind him. Yes, I found it after he was gone, and sent my servant down with it to his boarding-house. Oh, I was terribly agitated. He was so bold. But he won't come back again. No! he won't come back." "How do you know that?" cried Roger, starting to his feet, in spite of Judith's warning touch. "What! you were listening," said Mr. Spolger, angrily, coming near to the young man. "I could hardly help hearing you, seeing you raised your voice," retorted Roger, sharply. "Most dishonourable! most dishonourable!" "Sir!" "Gentlemen! gentlemen!" said Francis Marson, plainly, "you are in my house." "I beg your pardon, Mr. Marson," said Roger, ceremoniously, "I only asked Mr. Spolger a simple question." "To which he declines to reply," replied Mr. Spolger, coolly. "Why?" Judith had risen to her feet and was clinging to Francis Marson's arm, while Roger and Spolger looked steadily at one another. The whole four of them were so intent upon the conversation that they did not see a little figure enter the door and pause on the threshold at the sound of the angry voices. "You agitate me," said the valetudinarian, angrily. "I am not used to be agitated, sir. I was telling my friend a private story, and you should not have listened. "I apologise," replied Roger, bowing. "I did not intend to give offence, but I wondered how it was you guessed Melstane would never return." The little figure stole nearer. "What do you mean?" asked Spolger, quickly. Judith leaned on Marson's arm with her face deadly white and her eyes dilated, waiting--waiting for what she dreaded to think. "I mean about the Jarlchester Mystery." Mr. Marson said nothing, but with a face as pale as that of the woman on his arm, stared steadily at Roger Axton. At the mention of Jarlchester the figure behind came slowly along until Florry Marson, with a look of terror on her face, stood still as a statue behind her lover. "I have read in the papers about the Jarlchester Mystery," said Spolger, in an altered tone. "I guessed as much, and that was the reason you said Melstane would not return." "No, no! What do you mean?" "Mean that Sebastian Melstane died at Jarlchester, and you know it." "Sebastian!"