"It's a pity you should have come to this understanding
to-night," said he. "He's an acquaintance of the murdered woman,
and it is only right for you to know that you will have to leave
him behind when you start for home. All who have been seen
entering that alcove this evening will necessarily be detained
here till the coroner arrives.

My uncle and I strolled toward the drawing-room and as we did so
we passed the library. It held but one occupant, the Englishman.
He was seated before a table, and his appearance was such as
precluded any attempt at intrusion, even if one had been so
disposed. There was a fixity in his gaze and a frown on his
powerful forehead which bespoke a mind greatly agitated. It was
not for me to read that mind, much as it interested me, and I
passed on, chatting, as if I had not the least desire to stop.

I can not say how much time elapsed before my uncle touched me on
the arm with the remark:

"The police are here in full force. I saw a detective in plain
clothes look in here a minute ago. He seemed to have his eye on
you. There he is again! What can he want? No, don't turn; he's
gone away now."

Frightened as I had never been in all my life, I managed to keep
my head up and maintain an indifferent aspect. What, as my uncle
said, could a detective want of me? I had nothing to do with the
crime; not in the remotest way could I be said to be connected
with it; why, then, had I caught the attention of the police?
Looking about, I sought Mr. Durand. He had left me on my uncle's