“Who was the girl at the head of them?” “Oh, that? She was Lady Angela.” He gave a sneering laugh. “What an incongruity there is in some names! Satanita was what she ought to have been christened if everyone had their rights. And yet, in the old days, one could never have suspected this in her. I knew her, you know, and I more than liked her. She used to sing me old French songs; and one of them was rather a horrible production. It ought to have put me on my guard; but I suppose every man is a fool where women are concerned.” He broke off and hummed to himself a snatch of an old air: “_Pour passer ces nuits blanches, Gallery, mes enfants, Chassait tous les dimanches Et battais les paysans. Entendez-vous la sarabande?..._” “And so now she’s running a kind of Chasse-Gallery on her own account along with that human devil, Herne. It shows how little one knows.” Just as we approached Oxford Mansions, I heard the sound of a pistol-shot, and when we came up to the spot we found a still warm body with a Colt automatic clasped in its hand. “Suicide,” said Glendyne briefly, after examining the body. “The short way out.” There was nothing to be done, so we turned away. As we did so a black shadow dropped out of the sky and I saw a huge crow alighting by the side of the corpse. I think that this incident made as great an effect upon me as any. Times had changed indeed when crows became night-birds. Glendyne watched me drive the brute away from the corpse without attempting to help. “What’s the use? It will be back as soon as we go; and I don’t suppose you want to stay here all night? Birds are desperate for food nowadays, and that fellow may give you more than you expect if you don’t leave him alone. The old fear of man has left them, you know, nowadays.” Before we had gone many steps, we encountered another inhabitant, a cadaverous young man with an acid stain on his sleeve. He stopped and wished us “Good-evening,” being apparently glad to meet someone to whom he could talk. It was a relief to find that he appeared to be perfectly sane. I had become so accustomed to abnormality by this time that I think his sanity came almost as an unexpected thing. I asked him what he did to pass the time. “I was working at some alkaloid constitutions when the Plague came, and I just went on with that. I’ve got one definitely settled except for the position of a single methyl radicle, now; and I think I shall get that fixed in a day or two. But probably you aren’t a chemist?” “No. Not my line.” “Rather a pity--for me, I mean. One does like to explain what one has done; and there’s no chance of that now.” It seemed to me a pity that this enthusiast should be lost. Probably Nordenholt could find some use for him. “I think I could put you in touch with some other chemists if you like; but you would need to trust me in the matter. Is there anyone depending on you, any relatives?” “No, they’re all gone by now.”