I tried in vain to catch the doctor’s eye while he was speaking. How much did he mean to convey by that singular warning? Was he referring to my admission that I had heard Dr. Weathered’s name before, and cautioning me to make no more such admissions in the Inspector’s hearing? I felt a sick apprehension which I dared not show. Sir Frank seemed quite unconscious of my distress. “You and I,” he went on in a confidential way, “know that it wasn’t Weathered who crept into this room last night, and crept out again, leaving the keys behind. And we also know that whoever came here didn’t come for money. I think we can both guess what he did come for--he or she.” He darted a sudden glance at me as he uttered the last word, and he must have seen me start. But at that instant the door opened, and we both rose to our feet to receive the ladies coming in. There were two of them. Mrs. Weathered was a woman of about the same age as the man whom we had left lying in the Domino Club, but of a very different social type. She was not vulgar in any offensive sense of the word, but her appearance and manner were those of a woman such as one would expect to meet in the back parlour of a shop in a provincial town, rather than in a West End drawing-room. Her features were plain as well as homely; her gray hair showed no trace of a skilful maid’s art, and her fashionable dress only exposed her unfitness to wear it. Such a wife could only be a serious handicap to an ambitious man making his way upward in London society. It was possible to at least understand one of the doctor’s temptations to lead a secret life which brought him into more congenial company than his homely wife’s. Yet there was something touching in her pale, worn face; and her mild blue eyes searched our faces with a pitiful anxiety that convinced me that her husband still had a hold on her affection. Her daughter was as little like her as it was possible to be. Young enough in years--I put her down as little more than twenty--her face and figure were those of a ripe woman. Both were queenly. Her sombre crown of hair and flashing eyes made me think of Judith and the tragic heroines of old who were driven to avenge themselves on the men who had done them wrong. She betrayed none of her mother’s anxiety. Stern, self-possessed and courageous, she faced Sir Frank and myself with the demeanour of the accuser rather than the accused. Mrs. Weathered was the first to speak. Although addressing my chief as the elder of us two, I found her turning her eyes towards me as though more hopeful of sympathy from my youth. Her daughter on the contrary kept her intent gaze fixed on Tarleton and seemed barely conscious of my presence in the room. “Have you any news for me, sir? Dr. Weathered hasn’t come back yet--not since he was here in the early morning, and left his keys behind.” The physician shook his head with a grave air.