“Well, Miss Cumberly?” inquired the inspector, eagerly; whilst all in the room watched this slim girl in her charming deshabille, this dainty figure so utterly out of place in that scene of morbid crime. She raised her gray eyes to the detective. “I still believe that I have seen the face, somewhere, before. But I shall have to reflect a while--I meet so many folks, you know, in a casual way--before I can commit myself to any statement.” In the leonine eyes looking into hers gleamed the light of admiration and approval. The canny Scotsman admired this girl for her beauty, as a matter of course, for her courage, because courage was a quality standing high in his estimation, but, above all, for her admirable discretion. “Very proper, Miss Cumberly,” he said; “very proper and wise on your part. I don't wish to hurry you in any way, but”--he hesitated, glancing at the man in plain clothes, who had now resumed a careful perusal of a newspaper--“but her name doesn't happen to be Vernon--” “Vernon!” cried the girl, her eyes lighting up at sound of the name. “Mrs. Vernon! it is! it is! She was pointed out to me at the last Arts Ball--where she appeared in a most monstrous Chinese costume--” “Chinese?” inquired Dunbar, producing the bulky notebook. “Yes. Oh! poor, poor soul!” “You know nothing further about her, Miss Cumberly?” “Nothing, Inspector. She was merely pointed out to me as one of the strangest figures in the hall. Her husband, I understand, is an art expert--” “He WAS!” said Dunbar, closing the book sharply. “He died this afternoon; and a paragraph announcing his death appears in the newspaper which we found in the victim's fur coat!” “But how--” “It was the only paragraph on the half-page folded outwards which was in any sense PERSONAL. I am greatly indebted to you, Miss Cumberly; every hour wasted on a case like this means a fresh plait in the rope around the neck of the wrong man!” Helen Cumberly grew slowly quite pallid. “Good night,” she said; and bowing to the detective and to the surgeon, she prepared to depart. Mr. Hilton touched Dr. Cumberly's arm, as he, too, was about to retire. “May I hope,” he whispered, “that you will return and give me the benefit of your opinion in making out my report?” Dr. Cumberly glanced at his daughter; and seeing her to be perfectly composed:--“For the moment, I have formed no opinion, Mr. Hilton,” he said, quietly, “not having had an opportunity to conduct a proper examination.” Hilton bent and whispered, confidentially, in the other's ear:-- “She was drugged!” The innuendo underlying the words struck Dr. Cumberly forcibly, and he started back with his brows drawn together in a frown. “Do you mean that she was addicted to the use of drugs?” he asked, sharply; “or that the drugging took place to-night.” “The drugging DID take place to-night!” whispered the other. “An injection was made in the left shoulder with a hypodermic syringe; the mark is quite fresh.”