You will see what is passing in my mind, if you see what I write.'

I sat down by him and looked over his shoulder, without the smallest pretence of hesitation.

He began to write as follows:

'The poisoning at Gleninch. Queries: In what position does Miserrimus Dexter stand towards the poisoning? And what does he (presumably) know about that matter?

'He has ideas which are secrets. He suspects that he has betrayed them, or that they have been discovered in some way, inconceivable to himself. He is palpably relieved when he finds that this is not the case.'

The pen stopped; and the questions went on.

'Let us advance to your second visit,' said Mr. Playmore, 'when you saw Dexter alone. Tell me again what he did, and how he looked, when you informed him that you were not satisfied with the Scotch Verdict.'

I repeated what I have already written. The pen went back to the paper again, and added these lines:

'He hears nothing more remarkable than that a person visiting him, who is interested in the case, refuses to accept the verdict at the Macallan Trial, as a final verdict, and proposes to re-open the inquiry. What does he do upon that?

'He exhibits all the symptoms of a panic of terror; he sees himself in some incomprehensible danger; he is frantic at one moment, and servile at the next; he must and will know what this disturbing person really means. And when he is informed on that point, he first turns pale and doubts the evidence of his own senses; and next, with nothing said to justify it, gratuitously accuses his visitor of suspecting somebody. Query here: When a small sum of money is missing in a household, and the servants in general are called together to be informed of the circumstance, what do we think of the one servant, in particular, who speaks first, and who says, "Do you suspect me?"

He laid down the pen again.

'Is that right?' he asked.

I began to see the end to which the notes were drifting. Instead of answering his question, I entreated him to enter into the explanations that were still wanting to convince my own mind. He held up a warning forefinger and

stopped me.

'Not yet,' he said. 'Once again, am I right—so far?' 'Quite right.'

Don't

'Very well. Now tell me what Dexter did next. mind repeating yourself. Give me all the details, one after another to the end.'

I gave him all the details, exactly as I remembered them. Mr. Playmore returned to his writing for the third and last time. Thus the notes ended :—

'He is indirectly assured that he at least is not the person suspected. He sinks back in his chair; he draws a long breath; he asks to be left awhile by himself, under the pretence that the subject excites him. When the visitor returns, Dexter has been drinking in the interval. The visitor resumes the subject-not Dexter. The visitor is convinced that Mrs. Eustace Macallan died by the hand of a poisoner, and openly says so. Dexter sinks back in his chair like a man fainting. What is the horror that has got possession of him? It is easy to understand, if we call it guilty horror. It is beyond all understanding, if we call it anything else. And how does it leave him? He flies from one extreme to another; he is indescribably delighted when he discovers that the visitor's suspicions are all fixed on an absent person. And then, and then only, he takes refuge in the declaration that he has been of one mind with his guest, in the matter of suspicion, from the first! These are facts. To what plain conclusion do they point?'

He shut up his notes, and, steadily watching my face, waited for me to speak first.

"These are the facts: to what plain conclusion do they point?""-p. 284

'I understand you, Mr. Playmore,' I began, impetuously. 'You believe that Mr. Dexter'

His warning forefinger stopped me there.

'Tell me,' he interposed, what Dexter said to you when he was so good as to confirm your opinion of poor Mrs. Beauly?'

'He said, "There isn't a doubt about it. Mrs. Beauly poisoned her."

'I can't do better than follow so good an example-with one trifling difference. I say too, There isn't a doubt about it! Dexter poisoned her.'

'Are you joking, Mr. Playmore?'

'I never was more in earnest in my life. Your rash visit to Dexter, and your extraordinary imprudence in taking him into your confidence, have led to astonishing results. The light which the whole machinery of the Law was unable to throw on the poisoning case at Gleninch, has been accidentally let in on it, by a Lady who refuses to listen to reason and who insists on having her own way. Quite incredible, and nevertheless quite true!'

'Impossible!' I exclaimed.

'What is impossible!' he asked, coolly.

'That Dexter poisoned my husband's first wife.' 'And why is that impossible, if you please?'

I began to be almost enraged with Mr. Playmore.

'Can you ask the question?' I replied, indignantly, 'I have told you that I heard him speak of her, in terms of respect and affection of which any woman might be proud. He lives in the memory of her. I owe his friendly reception of me to some resemblance which he fancies he sees between my figure and hers. I have seen tears in his eyes, I have heard his voice falter and fail him, when he spoke of her. He may be the falsest of men in all besides; but he is true to her he has not misled me in that one thing. There are signs that never deceive a woman, when a man is

talking to