Poor Mackenzie was absolutely speechless. The coroner's man began to take copious notes; the police-constable gravely did the same. Mackenzie at last found his tongue. "I never felt more stunned in my life," he said. "In very truth, I all but saw the man die. Where is he? In the name of Heaven, what has become of him? This is the most monstrous thing I have ever heard of in the whole course of my life, and--and I attended the funeral of those _bags of flour_! No wonder that woman never cared to see me inside the house again. But what puzzles me," he continued, "is the motive--what _can_ the motive be?" "Perhaps one of the insurance companies can tell us that," said the police-officer. "It is my duty to report this thing, sir," he continued, turning to me. "I have not the least doubt that the Crown will prosecute." "I cannot at all prevent your taking what steps you think proper," I replied, "only pray understand that the poor lady who is the principal perpetrator in this fraud lies at the present moment at death's door." "We must get the man himself," murmured the police-officer. "If he is alive we shall soon find him." Half an hour later, Mackenzie and I had left the dismal cemetery. I had to hurry back to Harley Street to attend to some important duties, but I arranged to meet Mackenzie that evening at the Heathcotes' house. I need not say that my thoughts were much occupied with Mrs. Heathcote and her miserable story. What a life that wretched Heathcote must have led during the last six months. No wonder he looked cadaverous as the moonlight fell over his gaunt figure. No ghost truly was he, but a man of like flesh and blood to ourselves--a man who was supposed to be buried in Kensal Green, but who yet walked the earth. It was about eight o'clock when I reached the Heathcotes' house. Mackenzie had already arrived--he came into the hall to meet me. "Where is Miss Gabrielle?" I asked at once. "Poor child," he replied; "I have begged of her to stay in her room. She knows nothing of what took place this morning, but is in a terrible state of grief about her mother. That unfortunate woman's hours are numbered. She is sinking fast. Will you come to her at once, Halifax--she has asked for you several times." Accompanied by Mackenzie, I mounted the stairs and entered the sick room. One glance at the patient's face showed me all too plainly that I was in the chamber of death. Mrs. Heathcote lay perfectly motionless. Her bright hair, still the hair of quite a young woman, was flung back over the pillow. Her pale face was wet with perspiration. Her eyes, solemn, dark, and awful in expression, turned and fixed themselves on me as I approached the bedside. Something like the ghost of a smile quivered round her lips. She made an effort to stretch out a shadowy hand to grasp mine.