These recollections, Nick’s hurried inspection of the tragic scene, together with his vain inquiries addressed to Mrs. Julia Clayton--all had occupied only a very few moments, which Chick turned and asked perplexedly: “What do you make of it? What’s the trouble with her?” “Temporarily insane,” Nick murmured. “She cannot explain. She does not even recognize me.” “You don’t think she is feigning?” Chick whispered. “No, no, not for a moment. She looked precisely the same, appeared to be in precisely the same condition, when we saw her before we entered. She has undergone no change since seeing us. She is mentally deranged. She is stricken with aphasia, amnesia, or some similar condition.” “See her hands. She may have killed this man, or----” “One moment,” Nick interrupted. “She will remain here. We’ll have a hurried look at the evidence.” “But what can she mean by those two words, Nick, the scar, which appears to be all she can utter? They must have some vital significance. They may supply the key to the mystery.” “There is more of a mystery here than she can explain, Chick, while in her present condition, or than we can solve without a thorough investigation,” Nick said. “We had better begin it at once, than waste time vainly interrogating her.” Nick turned while speaking and replaced the telephone stand, also the instrument in their customary position, but he did not delay to communicate with the exchange operator. “There must be something here that will give us a hint at the truth,” he added. “We’ll try to find it before others show up.” “Barring these two, Nick, there seems to be no one in the house,” replied Chick, after listening briefly at the open door of the adjoining hall. “That also appears extraordinary. Where are the Claytons? Where is Mr. Langham? What has become of the servants? Why are all of them absent? If for legitimate reasons, and others have not been here since their departure, it must be that the woman killed this man in a fit of madness, of which her present condition may be the result, or----” Chick stopped short. A key had been thrust into the lock of the front door. The sound had reached the ears of both detectives. Nick moved quickly, with his forefinger laid on his lips. “Be quiet,” he cautioned. “Wait!” He stepped back of the open door, to a position enabling him to peer through the broad, brightly lighted hall. Chick drew back against the wall. Mrs. Julia Clayton had not stirred from her chair, had not spoken, nor ceased the piteous wringing of her bloodstained hands. She again was gazing with wide, vacant eyes at the gory form on the floor, still with no sign that she recognized the detectives, or had the slightest interest in, or understanding of, why they were there and what they were doing. Less than three minutes had passed since they entered the house--and another now was entering. Was that in any way significant?