“No, thank you,” said John. “Will you tell me where my wife has been this afternoon?” “With me all the time,” said Mrs. Oscraft, promptly. “We 've been doing Christmas shopping in Kensington High Street, and only just got back.” “She did n't go near Kilburn?” “Lord bless you, no!” said the lady. “Look here, would you like to see her?” “No,” said John. He apologized again, and bade her good evening. He descended the stone stairs with a bewildered feeling that he had made a fool of himself; and Mrs. Oscraft, as soon as the door was shut, put her thumb to her nose and twiddled her fingers in the traditional gesture of derision. John went away sore and angry, like a bull that, charging at a man, unexpectedly butts up against a stone wall. He had no reason for disbelieving Mrs. Oscraft, and the hat-pin was not his wife's. Yet who but his wife could have been the aggressor? It might have been an accident. It might have been a man--such cases are not uncommon--with the stabbing and cutting mania. Unity's fleeting glimpse of the woman in black might have been a trick of shadow in the lamplit fog. Yet in the deed he felt the hand of the revengeful and cruel woman. He was baffled. On his way home he called on Herold, whom he found at dinner. “I shall never know a moment's peace of mind,” he said gloomily, after they had discussed the matter, “until she is put under restraint. If she did n't do it, as you make out--” Herold held to the theory that a person could not be in two places, Kensington and Kilbum, at the same time--“she is quite capable of it.” “It's a mercy,” said Herold, “that you did not see her and tax her with the offence, and so put the idea into her head.” “I believe she did it all the same,” said John, obstinately. “But why should Mrs. Oscraft have lied? Mrs. Bence saw them go out and come in together. You can't suppose the other woman was an accomplice. It's absurd.” “I know it is,” said John. “But the absurd often turns up in a churchwarden's unhumorous kit of reality in this Bedlam of a world.” They argued until it was time for Herold to go to his theatre, when John went home and ate a belated dinner in such a black mood that Miss Lindon dared not question him. And that was the end of the matter. Unity's wound healed after a few days, and sturdily refusing Phoebe's protection on her walks abroad, she resumed her marketing in the Kilburn High Road. John called on the district inspector of police and obtained the ready promise that folks running amuck with hatpins should be summarily arrested and that his house and ward should be placed under special supervision.