I hesitated a moment. On the one hand I was anxious to oblige Atkins, whom I liked, and quite curious to see his wife again, and fathom, if possible, the cause of the change in her husband; while, on the other hand, I felt some delicacy about invading a lady's home when I had reason to believe that my being there would not be agreeable to her, for I remembered that she had refused even to look at me on leaving the coroner's presence. "If you are sure Mrs. Atkins would care to see me, I shall be delighted to accept your invitation." "Why should she object to see you?" he demanded. "There is really no reason," I hastened to explain; "only as you tell me your wife has been much upset by the murder, and is consequently rather nervous at present, I don't wish to inflict myself on her if there is the least danger that my company may recall that tragic occurrence too vividly to her." Atkins gave me a long, penetrating look, but having apparently satisfied himself that I had given my real reason, he said: "Nonsense, Doctor! Mrs. Atkins isn't as unreasonable as that. I'm sure she'll be glad to see you. Now, remember, we shall expect you at seven sharp to-morrow." "All right," I called back to him. I have given such a long account of this trifling incident, because for some time afterwards I could not get the young fellow's face out of my mind, and I kept imagining all sorts of possible, and impossible, reasons for his changed looks. Could it be that he suspected the murdered man to have been a friend of his wife's, and feared that she might have some guilty knowledge of his death?