When I had finished, she looked at me seriously for some moments without speaking. "I don't think I like that adventure," she said at last. For a moment she paused. "Don't go to that house again, Mike," she suddenly exclaimed. "Promise me you won't." I was deliberating what reply I should make to this request, though I did not think it likely I should want to go to the house again, when our attention was distracted by the footman entering with the morning papers—we were sitting in the big hall, before the fire of blazing logs. Dulcie sprang up and snatched the papers from the man, and Dick, bouncing in at that instant, exclaimed with mock solemnity: "Oh fie! 'Thou shalt not snatch,' Dulcie, you are 'no lady.'" "Thank heaven for that," she retorted quickly, then began to tantalize me by holding the papers just beyond my reach. At last she gave me two, and Dick one, opened one herself, and sat upon the rest. They made quite a pile, for Sir Roland was one of those broad-minded men who like to read both sides on questions of any importance. I soon found the report I sought. It occupied a prominent position, and was headed: HAMPSTEAD FIRE MYSTERY BODY FOUND STABBED POLICE PUZZLED The disastrous fire at Number 340 Maresfield Gardens, on Christmas Eve, has given rise to an interesting sequel. I had not been aware that a fire had occurred there, and I read on: It was confidently hoped that no lives had been lost, but about midday yesterday the charred body of a woman was discovered among the _debris_. Upon careful examination it was ascertained beyond doubt that the body had been several times stabbed, apparently with some sharp weapon or instrument. All the wounds were in the breast, and it is stated that any one of them might have caused death. The police are instituting searching inquiries, and a sensational announcement will most likely be made shortly. The origin of the conflagration remains a mystery. Apparently nobody occupied the house when the fire broke out, the sub-tenants, whose identity is veiled in obscurity, having left some days previously. "Have you read the account in your paper?" I asked, turning to Dulcie as I put mine down. "Yes," she answered, "I have just finished it. Isn't it terrible?" "I have a theory," a boy's voice exclaimed suddenly. Dick, seated on the floor, tossed aside the newspaper I had thrown to him. "That woman whose body has been found may have been stabbed, but I believe that big cobra had something to do with her death. I don't know why I think that, but I do. It's instinct, I suppose. Michael, I believe you were spoofed by that man Gastrell, whoever he is—absolutely spoofed." "Good heavens, Dick!" I exclaimed in dismay, "how do you come to know what I have just told to Dulcie in confidence?"