strange, like a man that feels all queer in his inside, and struggles not to show it. “I suppose I must put myself into a clean shirt for this inquest,” he says, and then he goes upstairs, and I wonders to myself how he feels as he goes by the door where that poor thing lies.’ ‘Did he never ask you for the key of the closet?’ ‘Never. Whether he guessed what had happened, and knew that I suspected him, I can’t tell--but he never asked no questions, and the closet has been locked up to this day, and I’ve got the key, and if you will come upstairs with me I’ll show you what I saw that dreadful morning.’ ‘No, no, there’s no need for that. The police are the people who must see the inside of that closet. It’s a strange business,’ said Gerard, ‘but I’m more glad than I can say for Treverton’s sake, and for the sake of his lovely young wife. What motive could this Desrolles have had for such a brutal murder?’ Mrs. Evitt shook her head solemnly. ‘That’s what I never could make out,’ she said, ‘though I’ve lain awake many a night puzzling myself over it. I know she hadn’t no money--I know that him and her was always friendly, up to the last day of her life. But I’ve got my idea about it.’ ‘What is your idea?’ asked Gerard. ‘That it was done when he was out of his mind with _delirious tremings_.’ ‘But have you ever seen him mad from the effects of drink?’ ‘No, never. But how can we tell that it didn’t come upon him sudden in the dead of the night, and work upon him until he got up and rushed downstairs in his madness, and cut that poor thing’s throat?’ ‘That’s too wild an idea. That a man should be raging mad with _delirium tremens_ between twelve and one o’clock, and perfectly sane at three, is hardly within the range of possibility. No. There must have been a motive, though we cannot fathom it. Well, I thank God that conscience has impelled you to tell the truth at last, late as it is. I shall get you to repeat this statement to Mr. Leopold to-morrow. And now get back to bed, and I’ll send Jemima up to you with a cup of good beef tea. God grant that this fellow Desrolles may be found.’ ‘I hope not,’ said Mrs. Evitt. ‘If they find him they’ll hang him, and he was always a good lodger to me. I’m bound to speak of him as I found him.’ ‘You wouldn’t speak very well of him if you had found him at your throat with a razor.’ ‘Ah,’ replied the landlady, ‘I lived in fear and dread of him ever after that horrid time. I’ve woke up in a cold prespiration many a time, fancying that I heard his breathing close beside my bed, though I always slept with my door locked and the kitching table pushed against it. I was right down thankful when he went away, though it was hard upon me to have my second-floor empty--and Queen’s taxes, and all my rates coming in just as regular as when my house was full.’