"There is no material change in the room," he said. "The secretaire is the same. You see, here is the drawer which was broken open. It bears the marks of the implement used to force the lock. I think I sat in this chair, or one like it. It was placed here. My face was turned towards the fire, yet in my dream I was looking through the centre window. The Japanese sword rested here. I showed you where Alan's body was found." The young man darted about the room to illustrate each sentence. Brett followed his words and actions without comment. He grabbed his hat and stick. "We will return later in the day," he said. "Let us go at once and call on Mrs. Eastham." "Mrs. Eastham! Why?" "Because I want to see Miss Helen Layton. The old lady can send for her." Hume needed no urging. He could not walk fast enough. They had gone a hundred yards from the house when Brett suddenly stopped and checked his companion. Behind the yew trees on the left, and rendered invisible by a stout hedge, a man was running--running at top speed, with the labouring breath of one unaccustomed to the exercise. The barrister sprang over the strip of turf, passed among the trees, and plunged into the hedge regardless of thorns. He came back instantly. "There is a footpath across the park, leading towards the lodge gates. Where does it come out?" he asked, speaking rapidly in a low tone. "It enters the road near the avenue, close to the gates. It leads from a farmhouse." "A lady is walking through the park towards the lodge. Capella is running to intercept her. Come! We may hear something." Brett set off at a rapid pace along the turf. Hume followed, and soon they were near the lodge. Mrs. Crowe saw them, and came out. "Stop her!" gasped Brett. Hume signalled the woman not to open the gate. She watched them with open-mouthed curiosity. The barrister slowed down and quietly made his way to the leafy angle where the avenue hedge joined that which shut off the park from the road. He held up a warning hand. Hume stepped warily behind him, and both men looked through a portion of the hedge where briars were supplanted by hazel bushes. Capella was standing panting near a stile. A girl, dressed in muslin, and wearing a large straw hat, was approaching. "Great Heavens! It is Helen!" exclaimed Hume. Brett grasped his shoulder. "Restrain yourself," he whispered earnestly. "Luckily, Capella has not heard you. I regret the necessity which makes us eavesdroppers, but it is a fortunate accident, all the same. Not a word! Remember what is at stake." They could not see the Italian's face. His back was heaving from the violence of his exertion. Miss Layton was walking rapidly towards the stile. Obviously she had perceived the waiting man, and she was not pleased. Her pretty face, flushed and sunburnt, wore the strained aspect of a woman annoyed, but trying to be civil. It was she who took the initiative.