He stood at the end of the grey old terrace, and heard me through to the end, then said,-- "This puts an entirely new complexion upon matters, old fellow. You suspect him of knowing something. If so, then we must act at once, and fearlessly--just as we did last night." "What do you mean? I don't understand." "He's out. Therefore we must go to his room and see whether he has anything there--any letters, for instance. To me, it seems plain that he was in expectation of the tragedy, and that he fears lest the dead man should be identified." "Then your suggestion is to search his belongings?" "Certainly. Let's go up there. There's no time to lose. He may be back at any moment." And so we crossed the great hall and quickly ascended to his room unseen by the servants. Then after looking rapidly through the drawers we found that one of Eric's keys fitted the strong brown kitbag at the foot of the bed. In a moment it was open, and a few seconds later its contents were out upon the floor. Among them we saw something lying which caused us to stare blankly at each other in utter amazement. The sight of it staggered us completely. Again the mystery was still further increased. It was inexplicable. I recognised my own grave peril if I dared to carry out Tibbie's bold and astounding suggestion. CHAPTER NINE. STRICTLY IN SECRET. Thursday night was wet and dismal in London as I stood outside the underground railway station at King's Cross at eight o'clock, keeping my appointment with the Honourable Sybil. There was a good deal of traffic and bustle in the Pentonville Road; the shops were still open, and the working-class population, notwithstanding the rain, were out with their baskets, making their purchases after their day's labour. At that spot in the evening one sees a veritable panorama of London life, its humours and its tragedies, for there five of the great arteries of traffic converge, while every two minutes the subterranean railway belches forth its hurrying, breathless crowds to swell the number of passers-by. The station front towards the King's Cross Road is somewhat in the shadow, and there I stood in patience and in wonder. What Eric and had discovered in Winsloe's kitbag had rendered the mystery the more tantalising, it being a cheap carte-de-visite photograph of the dead stranger--a picture which showed him in a dark tweed suit and golf-cap stuck slightly askew, as many young men of the working-class wear their caps. We were both greatly puzzled. How came the portrait in Ellice's possession? And why, if he were not in fear of some secret being divulged, did he not identify the stranger? Again I recollected well how Sybil had declared her intention to marry Ellice. For what reason? Was it in order to prevent her own secret being exposed? We had replaced the photograph--which, unfortunately, bore no photographer's name--re-locked the bag, and left the room utterly confounded.