"Beatrice did not die a natural death. Retiring to rest one night, apparently in good health, she was found dead in her bed the next morning. Bear in mind that I do not vouch for the exact correctness of the particulars I am giving you. Ronald has always been exceedingly reticent upon the subject, and it is only from chance observations that have fallen from him that I have gathered and put together what I am now relating. She met her death by asphyxiation. Putting out the gas before getting into bed she must have accidentally turned it on again, for her room was filled with its fumes. In the face of all this, what will you think of my nephew when I tell you that he is under the delusion that Beatrice still lives?" With the spectral cat in full view of me, I replied: "Seeing what I see, I cast no doubt upon any man's delusions. It is warm here, Bob, let us go on the roof; perhaps this lady here would like a mouthful of fresh air." CHAPTER XII. A HOUSE ON FIRE. Bob's phantom visitor and my faithful companion had no objection to the tiles, in which it may have found an endearing memory of old associations. Bob had fixed a couple of seats to the roof, where we sat and chatted and smoked, and enjoyed the usual prospect of chimney pots and attic windows. Sitting upon that height, accompanied by the spectral cat, reminded me in an odd way of one of Cruikshank's pictures, and I made an observation to this effect to Bob. "It _is_ rather weird," he said, "and especially in this light." The sun had set, and in the skies we saw the reflection of the yellow glare from the shops of crowded neighborhoods. Our conversation was confined within narrow limits because of the one engrossing subject which occupied my mind, and as we had pretty well threshed that out, and there was nothing particularly new to say about it, we fell into occasional silences, which suited the mood I was in. During one of these silences I observed what appeared to be an unusual restlessness in the cat. Instead of sitting quietly at my feet it crept backward and forward, and at length paused at a little distance from me, with its face to the west. I described these movements to Bob, and remarked that it seemed to be expecting something. "I wish with all my heart," was his reply, "that we could find some other subject to talk about than this wretched creature." "I wish so, too; but I don't see how it is possible till it bids me farewell. I no longer possess a will of my own, but am led or driven as if I were a machine."