"One of the worst type," answered the solicitor. "I don't think he would stick at murder if it was worth while and could be done safely. He was mixed up in the death of Charlie Byfleet, a rich young fellow who went to Switzerland with him and was killed by falling down a precipice. Many people suspected that Wyngate got possession of Byfleet's money and papers and then pushed him over the cliff." "That explains the nightmare!" I exclaimed, and I told my adviser of the scene in Wyngate's bedroom. "Yes; no doubt he has to do it over again in his sleep now and then," said Mr. Benedict, "but that's all the punishment he has had. He swore it was an accident, and there was no evidence against him. He has been keeping quiet since that affair, but he must have thought it had blown over by this time as he has begun again on you. I suppose he kept you to himself as long as he could?" "He never took me to see anybody except Violet Alexander, the actress," I said. "Oh, indeed!" ejaculated Mr. Benedict, smiling. "This is interesting. Did you find her very agreeable?" "Charming," I replied, ingenuously. "Wasn't she a rather expensive acquaintance?" I was obliged to confess that she was, and mentioned the presents. "Of course, as you were so friendly with Wyngate, you had to be nice to his wife," observed the solicitor. "_What?_" I exclaimed, in astonishment. "She is a very useful helpmate for him," continued the lawyer, smiling compassionately at me. "They have hunted together for years and made lots of money. Have you never heard of Violet Alexander's solid silver bath? You may be quite sure the lace dress and the diamond star have gone back to the shops where Wyngate made you buy them, and that he and Violet pocketed a nice little commission on the transaction. The shopkeepers are just as much in the gang as Wyngate and Jackson are. Wyngate stayed with you until he saw you were getting restive; then he ran up a few bills for you to pay and cleared out. You will not see him again until Jackson's bill falls due." "And then?" I asked. "Then there will be ructions," said Mr. Benedict, cheerfully. Here he took up a paper-knife, played with it carelessly, and looked as if he expected me to find a way out of the tangle. "Great Scot!" I exclaimed. "Shall I have to pay these villains eight thousand pounds?" "You certainly would if you had not come to us in time," was the reply. "Then I am in time?" I asked, much relieved. "Yes," said Mr. Benedict; "we can save your money, if you hand it over to someone else." "What on earth do you mean?"