"Is Mrs. Atkins ready?" I inquired of the pretty maid. Before she had time to answer, I heard the frou-frou of silk skirts advancing rapidly towards me. The perfume I had already noticed grew still more overpowering, and the lady herself appeared. And an exceedingly pretty little woman she proved to to be, too, with golden hair and cheeks that rivalled the roses. Her large blue eyes were as innocent and, it would be hypercritical to add, as expressionless as her sisters' of the toy-shop. A white muslin garment, slashed in every direction to admit of bands and frills of lace, enveloped her small person, and yards of blue ribbon floated around her. Her tiny, dimpled fingers were covered with glittering rings, which, however, scarcely outshone her small pink nails. She beamed coquettishly at me, showing some very pretty, sharp little teeth as she did so, and I found myself smiling back at her, completely forgetting the tragic errand I had come on. "Oh, Doctor," she cried, in a high treble voice, "isn't it dreadful! They tell me that a poor man has been killed in the building, and I am so terrified at having to look at him! Must I really do so?" She wrung her hands in graceful distress. "I'm afraid you must," I replied, smiling down at her. "But you will go with me, won't you?" she begged. "Certainly, dear Madam, and if your servants are also ready we had better get it over immediately." As the lady crossed the threshold of her apartment she tucked her hand confidingly into my arm, as if the support of the nearest man were her indisputable right, and, followed by the two servants, we proceeded in this fashion down-stairs. Mr. Merritt met us on the landing, and, signing to the two girls to wait outside, ushered us into the room where the body lay. As Mrs. Atkins caught sight of the dead man a great shudder shook her whole body, and I felt the hand on my arm grow suddenly rigid. She neither screamed nor fainted, but stood strangely still, as if turned to stone, her eyes riveted on the corpse in a horrified stare. "Mrs. Atkins?" inquired the Coroner. She seemed incapable of answering him. "Mrs. Atkins," he repeated, a little louder, "do you recognise the deceased?" This time she moved slightly and tried to moisten her grey lips. At last, with a visible effort, she slowly raised her eyes and glanced about her with fear. "No, no," she murmured, in a hollow voice. "Mrs. Atkins, I must request you to look at the dead man again," the detective said, fixing his eyes on her. "One of the elevator boys has identified the body as that of a gentleman who called on you on Tuesday evening." She raised her arm as if to ward off a blow, and moved slightly away from me. "I don't know the man," she said. "You deny that he called on you on Tuesday evening?" "I do," she answered, in a steady voice.