That shawl attracted me. I managed to speak with her alone for a moment, asking her quite an unimportant question, but nevertheless with a distinct object. As we stood there I placed my hand upon her shoulder--and upon the shawl. It was for that very reason--in order to feel the texture of the silk--that I returned to her. The contact of my hand with the silk was convincing. I turned from her once again, and rejoined the shrewd men whose object it was to fasten the guilt upon the assassin. Presently we heard the welcome sound of cab wheels outside, and a few minutes later young Mrs. Courtenay, wild eyed and breathless, rushed into the hall and dashed headlong up the stairs. I, however, barred her passage. "Let me pass!" she cried wildly. "Short has told me he is worse and has asked for me. Let me pass!" "No, Mary, not so quickly. Let me tell you something," I answered gravely, placing my hand firmly upon her arm. The police were again re-examining the back premises below, and only Ethelwynn was present at the top of the stairs, where I arrested her progress to the dead man's room. "But is there danger?" she demanded anxiously. "Tell me." "The crisis is over," I responded ambiguously. "But is not your absence to-night rather unusual?" "It was entirely my own fault," she admitted. "I shall never forgive myself for this neglect. After the theatre we had supper at the Savoy, and I lost my last train. Dolly Henniker, of course, asked me to stay, and I could not refuse." Then glancing from my face to that of her sister she asked: "Why do you both look so strange? Tell me," she shrieked. "Tell me the worst. Is he--is he _dead_?" I nodded in the affirmative. For a second she stood dumb, then gave vent to a long wail, and would have fallen senseless if I had not caught her in my arms and laid her back upon the long settee placed in an alcove on the landing. She, like all the others, had dressed hurriedly. Her hair was dishevelled beneath her hat, but her disordered dress was concealed by her long ulster heavily lined with silver fox, a magnificent garment which her doting husband had purchased through a friend at Moscow, and presented to her as a birthday gift.