"She had a weak heart, Mr. Merton," continued Paul Harker, slowly. "Any sudden shock, such as a hand grasping her throat"—his voice shook a little—"would have been liable to kill her. And a hand _did_ grasp her throat: the hand that tore off her pearls." "My God!" muttered Billy. "It’s ghastly—ghastly! Then that thing we heard must have—must have——" "Must have murdered my wife, Mr. Merton. The question is—what was it we heard? I fear we shall find it difficult to persuade the police on the matter of a tangible materialization. They deal in more mundane causes." And at that moment Billy Merton understood. The relentless voice of the man, the strange look in the grey-green eyes of the girl—it seemed to be triumph now—cleared away the fog from his brain, leaving it ice-cold. He was a man who suddenly sees a flaring notice DANGER, and realizes that there is peril ahead, though he knows not its exact form. And with men of the Merton stamp it is best to be careful at such moments. "I see," he answered, slowly. "You mean that, regarded from the police point of view, the supposition will be that one of the people who were present during the séance tore the pearls from your wife’s neck, and in doing so murdered her." "Regarded from every point of view," corrected Paul Harker, harshly. "Then under those circumstances," said Merton, grimly, "the police must be sent for at once." With his hands in his pockets he was staring at Paul Harker, while from the other end of the room came an occasional sob from some overwrought woman. The whole thing was like some horrible nightmare—bizarre, unreal—and the sudden arrival of the doctor came as a relief to everyone. Quickly he made his examination. Then he stood up. "How did that happen?" he asked, gravely, staring at the marks on the dead woman’s throat. "That man did it!" roared Harker, unable to contain himself longer and pointing an accusing finger at Merton. "You vile scoundrel! you blackguard! you—you——" "Steady, Mr. Harker!" cried the doctor, sharply. "Am I to understand, sir, that you did this?" He turned in amazement to Merton. "You are not," said Billy, evenly. "It’s a damnable lie." "I don’t understand," remarked the doctor. "Will somebody kindly explain?" It was Iris Sala who answered, and as she spoke the feeling that he was dreaming grew stronger in Billy Merton. "We were having a séance, Doctor," she began, in her deep rich voice, "trying to get a tangible materialization. The room, of course, was in pitch-darkness, and after it was over and the lights were turned up we found that Mrs. Harker was—dead!" Her voice faltered, and Harker lifted a grief-stricken face from beside his wife’s chair. "But what happened during the séance?" asked the doctor. "We heard something moving about. A thing that bumped and slithered over the carpet." "Pshaw!" snapped the doctor. "What I don’t understand is why this gentleman should be accused of it."