"I think not. First, I doubt if they exist anywhere save in your imagination; secondly, if they do, then someone else may have given them to you." "You did. I would recognize you among ten thousand men. On the night in question you wore a dinner jacket, and now you are in grey. That is all the difference." "Well, have it your own way," he replied smiling, though I could see that he had become palpably perturbed by my allegations. Whatever had been administered to me--some dope or other, no doubt--it had been intended that I should be cast adrift on the Continent as a semi-imbecile. It was that fact which maddened me. The poor girl might not have been his niece, of course, but whoever she had been, this man had had some very strange and distinct motive in getting rid of her. What it was I had vowed to discover. It was apparent that De Gex was anxious to get rid of me. Indeed, as we stood together in that fine old room, across the marble floor of which strayed long beams of sunlight, the door opened and a pretty woman came in. She was dressed to go out, and asked: "Will you be long, dear?" It was the beautiful Mrs. De Gex! In an instant I recognized her by the many photographs I had seen in the picture papers. "No. I'll be with you in a minute, dear. Is the car there?" he asked. "It's been there a quarter of an hour, and if we don't go now we shall be late in meeting Hylda at the station," she said, glancing at me with undisguised annoyance. Then she left, closing the door after her. Across my brain ran strange thoughts. I recollected his words in Stretton Street regarding his spiteful wife when I had been called in to listen to his matrimonial troubles. But husband and wife now appeared to be on quite amicable and even affectionate terms. I confess that I was still bewildered, as you, my reader, in whom I am here reposing confidence, would, I believe, have been, had you found yourself in similar circumstances. "I see that your wife is eager to go out," I said. "But I fear I must, before I go, press for a direct answer to my questions, Mr. De Gex." "My dear sir, I have answered them. What more can I say?" he exclaimed with affected dismay. "A very great deal. You can tell me the truth." "I have," he snapped. "Who this girl Engledue is I have not a ghost of an idea. Are you certain she is dead?" "Positive. I saw her lying dead in the room which adjoins your library." "What! My wife's room!" he cried. "Oh, come--let us finish all this silly talk." "When you are, at least, frank with me!" "I am." "But do you deny that the young lady, Gabrielle Engledue, died there? Do you not recollect that we both stood at her death-bed?" "Don't talk such piffle!" De Gex snapped, no doubt believing in the end that he would convince me of his ignorance of the whole tragedy.