I have extricated out of the tangled skein - the mystery of the sobs
in the night, of the tear-stained face of Mrs. Barrymore, of the
secret journey of the butler to the western lattice window.
That night - the night before last - I sat up with Sir Henry until
nearly three o'clock in the morning, and we both fell asleep in our
chairs. We drew entirely blank, but we were not discouraged. Last
night we tried again. We lowered the light and sat smoking silently
until after two o'clock, and were about to give up when suddenly we
heard the creak of a step in the passage. We opened the door and caught
a glimpse of the tall, black-bearded figure tiptoeing down the passage.
We followed cautiously, but even though we had taken the precaution of
leaving our boots behind us the old boards snapped and creaked beneath
our tread. Sometimes it seemed impossible that he should fail to
