"Oh, rubbish! Mrs. Purcell is a woman of sense, I am sure. So long as I keep my own counsel, she can say nothing. I want Mrs. Carson to revert, as much as possible, to the condition of affairs before this unhappy marriage. When all this mystery is cleared up, she will be able to start fresh." "That will depend, of course, mainly upon the identity of this man Carson," said Aldean. "Nothing of the sort," contradicted Mallow, sharply, but wincing all the same; "whatever he is she is his wife--there's no getting past that fact." "She may get a divorce. Carson's gone off with that girl." "Quite so; but he has not so far treated her with cruelty, and--well, you know the idiotcy of the D.C. For Heaven's sake, Jim, drop Mrs. Carson." "All right," assented Aldean. "I see your nerves are jumpy on that subject. Let's get to the matters in hand. About this Carson mess; what do you think of it?" "A big business, Jim; a nasty painful business, with a strong element of criminality it it. Of course it is all very vague and confused on the surface, but beneath, I am convinced, there is a very orderly and well-constructed conspiracy progressing." Mallow sat down and lighted his pipe. "Now, let us look at the facts," he said. "There can be no doubt that Semberry forced that girl on Mrs. Carson as a spy. Carson, too, must have known her before he came to Casterwell, or he would not have been meeting her on the quiet so soon after she came there. She overheard my conversation with her mistress in the sitting-room of the hotel (unfortunately it was not till I was about to leave that I noticed she had left the bedroom door ajar, or I would have closed it). However, she lost no time in reporting what she had heard to 49, Poplar Street, which, you understand, is the same address that Drabble gave me as his own. That, I consider, brings him into the business. Then she bolted to join Carson in Florence; that I think is proved by the envelope which I found in the grate of her bedroom. These are the main facts." "And you really think that Drabble is in the swindle?" "I do, from the fact of that address, and also from this wrist-button turning up; so far as we know, he could only have got it from Carson. That would seem to show that he knew Carson somewhere before he came to Casterwell. Presents argue a certain degree of intimacy." "That is one view," said Jim, quickly, "but there is another. If Carson is a fraud, you may be sure that it was the real man who was murdered in Athelstane Place. The sandal-wood scent forms a link between the true and the false." "Well, admitting that, even then the wrist-button must have passed through the false Carson's hands to reach Drabble. We have nothing to lead us to suppose that the doctor had anything to do with the murder." "Humph! The papers said, you remember, that only a surgeon could have amputated the right hand so neatly."