"She had a favorite instrument, had she not, upon which she was fond of playing?" "You seem to know a great deal about her, Mr. Emery. Her favorite instrument was the zither." "Have you heard her play upon it?" "Yes, and her touch was sweet and beautiful." "Would you say that her inclination was to play sorrowful or somber airs?" "By no means. The zither does not lend itself to boisterous music, there is a tenderness in the instrument which goes to the heart. Her taste lay in the direction of sweetness; but there was nothing sorrowful or somber in her playing." These questions answered, I succeeded in changing the subject of conversation, and Ronald stopped with us an hour, and then took his departure, saying before he left, "I rely on your promise, Mr. Emery." When he was gone I said to Bob, "False in one thing, false in all. Mr. Nisbet's evidence at the inquest was a tissue of fabrications. Now, Bob, I am going to put you to the test. The house in Lamb's Terrace is mine for three months. Will you spend a night or two with me there?" He looked up, rather startled at the proposition; but any uneasiness he may have felt passed away almost immediately. "Yes," he replied. "When?" "Not to-morrow night. It would not be fair. You have to get to the office on the following morning, and a night of unrest may interfere with your duties. Your Sundays are free. Let us fix Saturday night." "Very well, Ned. What explanation will you give to your wife?" "I shall exercise a pardonable deceit upon her. On Saturday afternoon you and I will be supposed to be going to Brighton for a blow. She will raise no objection and we may depend upon her not disturbing us. Untold gold would not tempt her into that house again." "I will join you," said Bob, in a serious tone. "I should not like you to be alone there." So it was arranged, and I bade him good-night. CHAPTER XVI. IN 79 LAMB'S TERRACE. As I supposed, my wife was entirely agreeable to the seaside excursion, and professed herself delighted at the idea. "You should go about more," she said. "Too much moping at home is bad for a man. We don't notice the changes that take place in ourselves, but others do." "You have noticed some change in me?" I asked. "I have. You are not half the man you used to be; your good spirits seem to have quite deserted you, and you keep looking about you in a most suspicious way." "Tell me, Maria, in what particular way?" "Well, as if you were afraid somebody was going to pick your pocket, or as if you fancied you had a shadow for a companion. My opinion is that you have not got over that unfortunate visit we paid to the house in Lamb's Terrace." "Have you got over it?" "No, and never shall. I can't keep my thoughts away from the place, and I often feel as if something was dragging me to the house again, though a second visit would be the death of me."