I adored her with a passionate madness that was beyond control. She was, as she had ever been, my ideal--my all in all. And yet the mystery surrounding her was still impenetrable; an enigma that grew more complicated, more impossible of solution. CHAPTER XXV. FORMS A BEWILDERING ENIGMA. "Found Drowned" was the verdict of the twelve respectable villagers who formed the Coroner's jury to inquire into the tragic death of young Mrs. Courtenay. It was the only conclusion that could be arrived at in the circumstances, there being no marks of violence, and no evidence to show how the unfortunate lady got into the river. Ambler Jevons, who had seen a brief account of the affair in the papers, arrived hurriedly in time to attend the inquest; therefore it was not until the inquiry was over that we were enabled to chat. His appearance had changed during the weeks of his absence: his face seemed thinner and wore a worried, anxious expression. "Well, Ralph, old fellow, this turns out to be a curious business, doesn't it?" he exclaimed, when, after leaving the public room of the Golden Ball, wherein the inquiry had been held, we had strolled on through the long straggling village of homely cottages with thatched roofs, and out upon the white, level highroad. "Yes," I admitted. "It's more than curious. Frankly, I have a distinct suspicion that Mary was murdered." "That's exactly my own opinion," he exclaimed quickly. "There's been foul play somewhere. Of that I'm certain." "And do you agree with me, further, that it is the outcome of the tragedy at Kew?" "Most certainly," he said. "That both husband and wife should be murdered only a few months after one another points to motives of revenge. You'll remember how nervous old Courtenay was. He went in constant fear of his life, it was said. That fact proves conclusively that he was aware of some secret enemy." "Yes. Now that you speak of it, I recollect it quite well," I remarked, adding, "But where, in the name of Fortune, have you been keeping yourself during all these weeks of silence?" "I've been travelling," he responded rather vaguely. "I've been going about a lot." "And keeping watch on Ethelwynn during part of the time," I laughed. "She told you, eh?" he exclaimed, rather apprehensively. "I didn't know that she ever recognised me. But women are always sharper than men. Still, I'm sorry that she saw me." "There's no harm done--providing you've made some discovery regarding the seven secrets that compose the mystery," I said. "Seven secrets!" he repeated thoughtfully, and then was silent a few moments, as though counting to himself the various points that required elucidation. "Yes," he said at last, "you're right, Ralph, there are seven of them--seven of the most extraordinary secrets that have ever been presented to mortal being as part of one and the same mystery."