"So rumour was right for once," said Garth, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, whether Gregory was married or single matters little to me. I am not the heir." "It may matter a great deal to the case," remarked Fanks, dryly. "Perhaps, Robert, you can tell me where Emma Calvert came from?" "I do not know; my master knew, but he never told me. Lady Fellenger did not speak of her past in my presence." "And where is she now?" "Dead; she died in Paris." "I see that you are telling the truth. She died in 1893." "How did she die?" "I can't answer you," burst out Robert, in a frenzy. "You will drive me mad. Night and day I have her dead face before me. Look at me," he continued, holding out his trembling hands. "I am a wreck of what I was once. All through the death of Emma Calvert, of Lady Fellenger." The two listeners arose to their feet. What dark mystery was connected with the death of this woman that could so move the man? In searching for one murder had they stumbled upon another? "Did she meet her death; by foul play?" asked Garth, sternly. "No! No! I swear it was not that; but she did not get on well with my master. He wearied of her, he neglected her; she was very proud and impulsive; and one night after a great scene--she--she----" "Well, man--well?" "She--she destroyed herself." "Great heavens!" cried Garth, confirmed in his worst fears. "Suicide?" "She drowned herself in the Seine," said Robert, in a low voice. As he spoke a woman appeared on the threshold of the open door. Robert gave one look at her, and raised his hands with a cry. "The dead!" he moaned, retreating from the woman. "The dead returned to life. I saw her laid out. I saw her buried; yet she is there--there!" and with a cry he fell on the floor in a fit. The others made no attempt to assist him. They were staring spellbound at the woman. She was the original of the photograph which Garth held in his hand. CHAPTER VII. DIFFICULTIES. The woman who had caused this commotion stood in the doorway, looking on in some surprise. She was dressed in the semi-masculine fashion now affected by the sex--a serge gown, short and smart in appearance, a natty jacket of the same material, worn over a black striped shirt, and a Tyrolean hat of brown felt. Her face was oval and waxen in its pallor, her eyes of a dark blue, and her hair black and luxuriant. A look of determination was impressed on lip and eye, but this gave place to an expression of surprise when she saw Robert fall on the floor. Finally, when her eyes met those of Fanks', she started and shrank back. Maxwell peered over her shoulder in gaping astonishment; and for quite half a minute there was a dramatic pause. It was broken by the woman, who stepped forward and addressed herself to Fanks.