“Wait a moment, Austin,” he replied, “I have made up my mind to mention a little matter that occurred last night. It stated, I think, that Crashaw was last seen alive in St. James’s Street shortly after ten?” “Yes, I think so. I will look again. Yes, you are quite right.” “Quite so. Well, I am in a position to contradict that statement at all events. Crashaw was seen after that; considerably later indeed.” “How do you know?” “Because I happened to see Crashaw myself at about two o’clock this morning.” “You saw Crashaw? You, Villiers?” “Yes, I saw him quite distinctly; indeed, there were but a few feet between us.” “Where, in Heaven’s name, did you see him?” “Not far from here. I saw him in Ashley Street. He was just leaving a house.” “Did you notice what house it was?” “Yes. It was Mrs. Beaumont’s.” “Villiers! Think what you are saying; there must be some mistake. How could Crashaw be in Mrs. Beaumont’s house at two o’clock in the morning? Surely, surely, you must have been dreaming, Villiers; you were always rather fanciful.” “No; I was wide awake enough. Even if I had been dreaming as you say, what I saw would have roused me effectually.” “What you saw? What did you see? Was there anything strange about Crashaw? But I can’t believe it; it is impossible.” “Well, if you like I will tell you what I saw, or if you please, what I think I saw, and you can judge for yourself.” “Very good, Villiers.” The noise and clamour of the street had died away, though now and then the sound of shouting still came from the distance, and the dull, leaden silence seemed like the quiet after an earthquake or a storm. Villiers turned from the window and began speaking.