"Yes. Julia had an idea of getting records of her songs. She sings very well, you know, Calvert. She has had a phonograph for a long time, and amuses the child with it. That song, 'Kathleen Mavourneen,' is a favourite with my wife, and I wondered afterwards how it came to be sung, seeing she was at Westcliff-on-Sea. Then, when a description was given of the kind of voice, I knew it was the phonograph." "Why didn't you say so at the inquest?" asked the American sharply. "Because it never struck me till later. But that's enough about the matter. I'm weary of the murder. Let us talk of other things." "I am afraid we cannot," said Arnold, holding up the book! "Do you know what this is, Fane?" "No," said the other, staring; "what is it?" "The diary of Mrs. Brand." "How strange," said Fane, but his voice sounded nervously uncertain; "where did you find it?" "It was concealed," said Tracey, with emphasis; "the man who removed all evidence of Mrs. Brand's past life could not find it. And by means of that diary, Mr. Fane, we are enabled to prove a lot." "If you can prove who murdered the woman I shall be glad to hear." "You really mean that?" asked Tracey, staring in his turn. "Of course." Fane stared at Tracey in return, and then looked at Arnold. "I'm glad you sent for me, Calvert. Let us hear everything." "It is the story of Mrs. Brand's life----" "Oh! And has it to do with the murder?" "I think so." "Does it point to the assassin?" "It may even do that. But we can't be sure." Fane threw back his head and closed his eyes. "Read on," he said; "I will give you my opinion." Tracey and Calvert glanced at one another again, and then the latter opened the book. Fane, hearing the rustle of the leaves, sat up. "I say, you needn't read all that," he said; "I can't stand reading at any time, not even from an actor. Tell me the gist of the matter." "From the beginning?" asked Arnold, closing the book. "Certainly--from the very beginning." "As you please," replied Calvert, and handed the book to Tracey. Fane, still smoking, again leaned back his head and closed his eyes. After a pause, Arnold commenced the story. But after a few words, he broke down irritably-- "I can't tell you the thing if you don't look at me." "Thanks," said Fane lazily, "I can hear better with my eyes closed." "Oh, don't bother!" cried Tracey roughly to Calvert. "Get along. The thing's getting on my nerves." "I hope it won't get on mine," said Fane, with a sigh; "go on." "Mrs. Brand," commenced Arnold, without further preamble, "was the daughter of my uncle----" "Yes," murmured Fane, "I heard she was your cousin." "I suppose you heard that from Laura," replied Arnold calmly. "Yes, she was my cousin, and left her fortune to me, although I saw very little of her. She is also--or rather, seeing she is dead, was also--the cousin of Professor Bocaros, whose aunt married my uncle." "Never heard of him," said Fane.