Martin Gurwood rose from his chair and walked to the mantelpiece, where he stood for a moment, his head resting on his hand. When he turned round his face had resumed its usual pallor, was, indeed, whiter than usual, as he said: 'I have guessed from the first that you had something to say to me, and I have a fearful idea that I guess its purport. Mr. Calverley has committed suicide?' 'No, I think not; I certainly think not,' said the doctor. 'What do you say, Broadbent?' 'Most decidedly not,' said Mr. Broadbent. 'When I saw him yesterday, even in the cursory examination which I was able to make, I satisfied myself that there were symptoms of pericarditis, and I will stake my professional reputation it was that that killed him.' 'When you saw him yesterday?' repeated Martin Gurwood, looking blankly at the surgeon. 'Why, yesterday he must have been in the North. It was on his return journey, thence, as I understood, that he died in train.' 'Yes, exactly,' said Doctor Haughton, 'this is just the point where a little explanation is necessary. The fact is, my dear sir, that our poor friend did not die in the train at all, but on the public road, the high road leading to Hendon, where he lived.' 'Where he lived!' cried Martin Gurwood. 'You are speaking in riddles, which it is impossible for me to understand. I must ask you to be more explicit, if you wish me to comprehend you.' 'Well, then, the fact of the matter is, that our poor friend for some years past has led a kind of double life. Here and in Mincing-lane he was, of course, Mr. Calverley; but at Hendon, where, as I said before, he sometimes lived, having a very pretty place there, he passed as Mr. Claxton.' 'Claxton!' cried Martin; 'it is the name of one of the firm.' 'Yes,' said the doctor; 'I have always understood that Mr. Claxton was a sleeping partner in the firm. Our friend here,' pointing to Mr. Broadbent, 'thought so, as well as many others. No doubt the suggestion originated with the poor man himself; who thought that some day his connexion with the firm might crop up, and that this would prove a not ineffectual blind.' 'What an extraordinary idea!' said Martin Gurwood. 'And he took this house at Hendon, and lived there, you say, from time to time.' 'Exactly,' said Doctor Houghton, looking hard at him. 'As an occasional retreat, doubtless, to which he could retire from the worries of business and--other things. You are a man of the world, Doctor Houghton, and though you have not been much at this house, you must have remarked that my mother is somewhat exacting, and scarcely calculated to make a comfortable home for a man of poor Mr. Calverley's cheerful temperament. I can understand his not telling his wife of the existence of this little retreat.'