"I examined the wound," Milburgh went on, nodding his agreement with Tarling's description, "and knew that it was fatal. I do not think, however, that Mr. Thornton Lyne was dead at this time. My next thought was to stanch the wound, and I pulled open the drawer and took out the first thing which came to my hand, which was a night-dress. I had to find a pad and employed two of Odette's handkerchiefs for the purpose. First of all I stripped him of his coat and his vest, a task of some difficulty, then I fixed him up as best I could. I knew his case was hopeless, and indeed I believe," said Mr. Milburgh soberly, "I believe he was dead even before the bandaging was completed. "Whilst I was doing something I found it was possible to forget the terrible position in which I would find myself if somebody came into the room. The moment I saw the case was hopeless, and had a second to think, I was seized with a blind panic. I snatched my overcoat from the peg and ran out of the room; through the back way into the mews, and reached Camden Town that night, a mental and physical wreck." "Did you leave the lights burning?" asked Tarling. Mr. Milburgh thought for a moment. "Yes," he said, "I left the lights burning." "And you left the body in the flat?" "That I swear," replied Milburgh. "And the revolver--when you got home was it in your pocket?" Mr. Milburgh shook his head. "Why did you not notify the police?" "Because I was afraid," admitted Mr. Milburgh. "I was scared to death. It is a terrible confession to make, but I am a physical coward." "There was nobody in the room?" persisted Tarling. "Nobody so far as I could see. I tell you the window was open. You say it is barred--that is true, but a very thin person could slip between those bars. A woman----" "Impossible," said Tarling shortly. "The bars have been very carefully measured, and nothing bigger than a rabbit could get through. And you have no idea who carried the body away?" "None whatever," replied Milburgh firmly. Tarling had opened his mouth to say something, when a telephone bell shrilled, and he picked up the instrument from the table on which it stood. It was a strange voice that greeted him, a voice husky and loud, as though it were unused to telephoning. "Tarling the name?" shouted the voice quickly. "That is my name," said Tarling. "She's a friend of yours, ain't she?" asked the voice. There was a chuckle. A cold shiver ran down Tarling's spine; for, though he had never met the man, instinct told him that he was speaking to Sam Stay. "You'll find her to-morrow," screamed the voice, "what's left of her. The woman who lured him on ... what's left of her...." There was a click, and the receiver was hung up. Tarling was working the telephone hook like a madman. "What exchange was that?" he asked, and the operator after a moment supplied the information that it was Hampstead. CHAPTER XXXVI AT HIGHGATE CEMETERY