"There has been an accident, Major," I said, glancing around at the servants, who stood in a group by the door of the breakfast-room; "I can explain more fully later." Major Dale stepped forward and looked down at Wales. "Good God!" he said hoarsely, "it's young Wales, by the Lord Harry!--what's he doing here?" Mrs. Dale, standing just behind me, laid her hand upon my arm; and, unseen by the Major, I turned and pressed it reassuringly. IV The following day I lunched alone with the Major, Mrs. Dale being absent on a visit. It had been impossible to keep the truth from her (or what we knew of it) and at present I could not quite foresee the issue of last night's affair. Young Wales, who had been driven home in a car sent from his place at a late hour, had not since put in an appearance; and it was sufficiently evident that Mrs. Dale would not welcome him should he do so, the hysterical panic which he had exhibited on the previous night having disgusted her. She had not said so in as many words, but I did not doubt it. "Well, Addison?" said the Major as I entered, "have you got the facts you were looking for?" "Some of them," I replied, and opening my notebook I turned to the pages containing notes made that morning. The Major watched me with intense curiosity, and almost impatiently awaited my next words. The servant having left the room: "In the first place," I began, glancing at the notes, "I have been consulting certain local records in the town, and I find that in the year 1646 a certain Dame Pryce occupied a cabin which, according to one record, 'stood close beside unto ye Lowe Fennel.'" "That is, close beside this house?" interjected the Major excitedly. "Exactly," I said. "She attracted the attention of one of the many infamous wretches who disfigure the history of that period: Matthew Hopkins, the self-styled Witch-Finder General. This was a witch-ridden age, and the man Hopkins was one of those who fattened on the credulity of his fellows, receiving a fee of twenty shillings for every unhappy woman discovered and convicted of witchcraft. Poor Pryce was 'swum' in a local pond (a test whereby the villain Hopkins professed to discover if the woman were one of Satan's band, or otherwise) and burnt alive in Reigate market-place on September 23, 1646." "By God!" said the Major, who had not attempted to commence his lunch, "that's a horrible story!" "It is one of the many to the credit of Matthew Hopkins," I replied; "but, without boring you with the details of this woman's examination and so forth, I may say that what interests me most in the case is the date--September 23." "Why? I don't follow you."