Fenella moved slowly towards the door and admitted him. Then Arnold, setting his teeth, rolled back the couch. A man was lying there, stretched at full length. His face was colorless except for a great blue bruise near his temple. Arnold stared at him for a moment with horrified eyes. "My God!" he muttered. There was a brief silence. Fenella looked across at Arnold. "You know him!" Arnold's first attempt at speech failed. When the words came they sounded choked. There was a horrible dry feeling in his throat. "It is the man who looked in at the window that night," he whispered. "I saw him--only a few hours ago. It is the same man." Fenella came slowly to his side. She leaned over his shoulder. "Is he dead?" she asked. Her tone was cold and unnatural. Her paroxysm of fear seemed to have passed. "I don't know," Arnold answered. "Let Groves telephone for a doctor." The man half turned away, yet hesitated. Fenella fell on her knees and bent over the prostrate body. "He is not dead," she declared. "Groves, tell me exactly who is in the house?" "There is no one here at all, madam," the man answered, "except the servants, and they are all in the other wing. We have had no callers whatever this evening." "And Mr. Weatherley?" "Mr. Weatherley arrived home about seven o'clock," Groves replied, "dined early, and went to bed immediately afterwards. He complained of a headache and looked very unwell." Fenella rose slowly to her feet. She looked from Arnold to the prostrate figure upon the carpet. "Who has done this?" she asked, pointing downwards. "It may have been an accident," Arnold suggested. "An accident!" she repeated. "What was he doing in my sitting-room? Besides, he could not have crept underneath the couch of his own accord." "Do you know who it is?" Arnold asked. "Why should I know?" she demanded. He hesitated. "You remember the night of my first visit here--the face at the window?" She nodded. He pointed downward to the outstretched hand. "That is the man," he declared. "He is wearing the same ring--the red signet ring. I saw it upon his hand the night you and I were in this room alone together, and he was watching the house. I saw it again through the window of the swing-doors on the hand of the man who killed Rosario. What does it mean, Fenella?" "I do not know," she faltered. "You must have some idea," he persisted, "as to who he is. You seemed to expect his coming that night. You would not let me give an alarm or send for the police. It was the same man who killed Rosario." She shook her head. "I do not believe that," she declared. "If it were not the same man," Arnold continued, "it was at least some one who was wearing the same ring. Tell me the truth, Fenella!" She turned her head. Groves had come once more within hearing.