It was apparent that there was some slight confusion in the mind of our hostess between Tarleton and some other scientist of equal if not greater eminence--possibly the immortal Pasteur. Meanwhile, one thought possessed my mind to an extent that made me indifferent to everything else. This chatty, blundering, good-natured creature could by no conceivable possibility be connected with the tragedy in the Domino Club. Whatever part she had played and whether she had or had not been present on the fateful night, it was no less than absurd to credit her with any responsibility for Weathered’s death. With an agility which I could only envy she skipped lightly over the many pitfalls that bestrewed the floor, and stage-managed us both into comfortable chairs, while she took up an attitude on a couch smothered in cushions, which faintly recalled Thorwaldsen’s statue of Ariadne. “I hope you will accept my condolences on Captain Armstrong’s death, if it’s not too late,” the consultant contrived to slip in presently. The bereaved sister brightened up. Doubtless this was the clue she had wanted to our reason for calling on her. “To be sure!” she exclaimed. “You knew my brother, of course. Everybody knew him. What a man he was! The greatest explorer who ever lived, so I think. He would have discovered America, and Livingstone, and the North Pole, if only those other people hadn’t done it first.” Her face fell for a moment, as she added, “He was careless in money matters, I know. It was his open, generous nature. Did he borrow from either of you gentlemen?” The question was put in a tone of resignation which I understood as soon as we had both disclaimed any such transaction with the late Captain Armstrong. “I am so thankful,” the loyal sister sighed. “So many of his friends have come to me since his death was announced in the papers, and they all brought I O U’s for money that he owed them. I have paid them all, of course, but I had to do it out of my own money. Poor Edgar left nothing.” I glanced at my chief in some surprise. But he knew the world better than I did, as his answer showed. “I was afraid that his books hadn’t brought him in very much, valuable as they were to science.” Mrs. Baker shook her head. “Not one of them paid its expenses. I had to advance the money to publish them, and I don’t suppose I shall ever get it back.” “You have some things to remember him by, at all events,” Tarleton suggested. “Those leopard skins are very fine.” “Ah, yes.” The sister brightened up again. “Everything he brought home he gave to me. It’s a wonderful collection, isn’t it? People tell me I ought to give it to the nation. I think I shall leave this house and its contents to trustees as a memorial, like Carlyle’s house in Cheyne Row, you know.” We could only express approval of this pious intention. My chief now came to the object of our visit.