When I sat down, next morning, beside Miss Kemball, she closed her book, and turned to me with a very determined air. "Of course, Mr. Lester," she began, "if you think any harm can come from telling me, I don't want you to say a word; but I really think I'm entitled to an explanation." "So do I," I agreed. "You've proved yourself a better guard than I. I'd forgotten all about Martigny--I was thinking, well, of something very different--I had no thought of danger." "Nor had I," she said quickly. "But I chanced to look up and see that dark figure bending over them, and I cried out, really, before I had time to think--involuntarily." "It was just that which saved them. If you'd stopped to think, it would have been too late." "Yes--but, oh, I could think afterwards! I'd only to close my eyes, last night, to see him there yet, peering down at us, waiting his opportunity. And then, of course, I puzzled more or less, over the whole thing." "You shan't puzzle any more," I said, and looked about to make certain that there was no one near. Then, beginning with the death of Hiram Holladay, I laid the case before her, step by step. She listened with clasped hands and intent face, not speaking till I had finished. Then she leaned back in her chair with a long sigh. "Why, it's horrible!" she breathed. "Horrible and dreadfully puzzling. You haven't told me your explanation yet, Mr. Lester." "I haven't any explanation," I said helplessly. "I've built up half a dozen theories, but they've all been knocked to pieces, one after the other. I don't know what to think, unless Miss Holladay is a victim of hypnotism or dementia of some kind, and that seems absurd." "Sometimes she's nice and at other times she's horrid. It recalls 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,' doesn't it?" "Yes, it does; only, as I say, such an explanation seems absurd." She sat for a moment with eyes inwardly intent. "There's one theory which might explain it--part of it. Perhaps it wasn't Miss Holladay at all who returned from Washington Square with the new maid. Perhaps it was the other woman, and the barred windows were really to keep Miss Holladay a prisoner. Think of her there, in that place, with Martigny for her jailer!" "But she wasn't there!" I protested. "We saw her when we gave her the money. Royce and I saw her--so did Mr. Graham." "Yes--in a darkened room, with a bandage about her forehead; so hoarse she could scarcely speak. No wonder Mr. Royce hardly knew her!" I stopped a moment to consider. "Remember, that would explain something which admits of no other reasonable explanation," went on my companion; "the barred windows and the behavior of the prisoner." "It would explain that, certainly," I admitted, though, at first thought, the theory did not appeal to me. "You believe, then that Miss Holladay was forcibly abducted?" "Undoubtedly. If her mind was going to give way at all, it would have done so at once, and not two weeks after the tragedy."