The bare facts were clear enough to the ordinary mind, that is to say, to the mind that had no profound motive to urge it to look beneath the surface. They were clear enough to me, but not in any sense satisfactory. It appeared to my judgment that the inquest was hurried over, that statements had been accepted which should have been the subject of more searching examination, and that any person deeply interested in the case would have asked questions which did not seem to have occurred to coroner and jury. My own experience had led me to the conclusion that at these hasty inquests many important matters of detail which might have a vital bearing on the verdict are altogether overlooked. The coroners have too much to do, too many inquiries to make in the course of a few hours; the jury, dragged from their occupations without adequate remuneration, are only anxious to get the matter over and return to their businesses and homes. There should be some better method of procedure in these important investigations if it is desired that justice shall be properly served, and for my part I was stirred by an uneasy consciousness that in this instance justice had been hoodwinked. How, indeed, could I have felt differently with the specter cat lying at my feet, and looking up into my face? The silent monitor was an irresistible force. Although the death of Beatrice Lockyer did not personally concern me, and I had no direct interest in discovering whether she died by fair means or foul, I was impelled onward by the conviction that I should never be freed from this supernatural visitation until the truth was brought to light. It was evening when I received and read the report of the inquiry agent and the account of the inquest, and I had made no appointment to meet Bob. On the chance of finding him at home, I took the train to Canonbury, leaving a message with Maria that if he called during my absence he was to remain till I returned. Accompanied by my spectral companion, I mounted Bob's staircase, and he, hearing my footsteps, received me on the landing. "I half expected you," he said, casting his eyes downward. "It is with me, Bob," I said, answering the look. "Have you seen your nephew to-day?" "No," he replied. "I should not be surprised if he pops in to-night. You have some news?" "Mr. Dickson has sent me certain particulars relating to the death of the young lady, whose name, as you will see, is Beatrice Lockyer. I should like to go through them with you, and to hear what strikes you as having a suspicious bearing on the case." I handed him the papers I had brought with me, and he read them carefully. "I doubt," he said, when he had finished, "whether Ronald knows to this day that Beatrice was not Mr. Nisbet's daughter." "Would he not have read the account of the inquest?" I inquired.