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I STARTED to my feet, and looked at Miserrimus Dexter. I was toomuch agitated to be able to speak to him.

My utmost expectations had not prepared me for the tone ofabsolute conviction in which he had spoken. At the best, I hadanticipated that he might, by the barest chance, agree with me insuspecting Mrs. Beauly. And now his own lips had said it, withouthesitation or reserve! "There isn't the shadow of a doubt: Mrs.Beauly poisoned her."

"Sit down," he said, quietly. "There's nothing to be afraid of.Nobody can hear us in this room."

I sat down again, and recovered myself a little.

"Have you never told any one else what you have just told me?"was the first question that I put to him.

"Never. No one else suspected her."

"Not even the lawyers?"

"Not even the lawyers. There is no legal evidence against Mrs.Beauly. There is nothing but moral certainty."

"Surely you might have found the evidence if you had tried?"

He laughed at the idea.

"Look at me!" he said. "How is a man to hunt up evidence who istied to this chair? Besides, there were other difficulties in myway. I am not generally in the habit of needlessly betrayingmyself--I am a cautious man, though you may not have noticed it.But my immeasurable hatred of Mrs. Beauly was not to beconcealed. If eyes can tell secrets, she must have discovered, inmy eyes, that I hungered and thirsted to see her in the hangman'shands. From first to last, I tell you, Mrs. Borgia-Beauly was onher guard against me. Can I describe her cunning? All myresources of language are not equal to the task. Take the degreesof comparison to give you a faint idea of it: I am positivelycunning; the devil is comparatively cunning; Mrs. Beauly issuperlatively cunning. No! no! If she is ever discovered, at thisdistance of time, it will not be done by a man--it will be doneby a woman: a woman whom she doesn't suspect; a woman who canwatch her with the patience of a tigress in a state ofstarvation--"

"Say a woman like Me!" I broke out. "I am ready to try."

His eyes glittered; his teeth showed themselves viciously underhis mustache; he drummed fiercely with both hands on the arms ofhis chair.

"Do you really mean it?" he asked.

"Put me in your position," I answered . "Enlighten me with yourmoral certainty (as you call it)--and you shall see!"

"I'll do it!" he said. "Tell me one thing first. How did anoutside stranger, like you, come to suspect her?"

I set before him, to the best of my ability, the various elementsof suspicion which I had collected from the evidence at theTrial; and I laid especial stress on the fact (sworn to by thenurse) that Mrs. Beauly was missing exactly at he time whenChristina Ormsay had left Mrs. Eustace Macallan alone in herroom.

"You have hit it!" cried Miserrimus Dexter. "You are a wonderfulwoman! What was she doing on the morning of the day when Mrs.Eustace Macallan died poisoned? And where was she during the darkhours of the night? I can tell you where she was _not_--she wasnot in her own room."

"Not in her own room?" I repeated. "Are you really sure of that?"

"I am sure of everything that I say, when I am speaking of Mrs.Beauly. Mind that: and now listen! This is a drama; and I excelin dramatic narrative. You shall judge for yourself. Date, thetwentieth of October. Scene the Corridor, called the Guests'Corridor, at Gleninch. On one side, a row of windows looking outinto the garden. On the other, a row of four bedrooms, withdressing-rooms attached. First bedroom (beginning from thestaircase), occupied by Mrs. Beauly. Second bedroom, empty. Thirdbedroom, occupied by Miserrimus Dexter. Fourth bedroom, empty. Somuch for the Scene! The time comes next--the time is eleven atnight. Dexter discovered in his bedroom, reading. Enter to himEustace Macallan. Eustace speaks: 'My dear fellow, beparticularly careful not to make any noise; don't bowl your chairup and down the corridor to-night.' Dexter inquires, 'Why?'Eustace answers: 'Mrs. Beauly has been dining with some friendsin Edinburgh, and has come back terribly fatigued: she has goneup to her room to rest.' Dexter makes another inquiry (satiricalinquiry, this time): 'How does she look when she is terriblyfatigued? As beautiful as ever?' Answer: 'I don t know; I havenot seen her; she slipped upstairs, without speaking to anybody.'Third inquiry by Dexter (logical inquiry, on this occasion): 'Ifshe spoke to nobody, how do you know she is fatigued?' Eustacehands Dexter a morsel of paper, and answers: 'Don t be a fool! Ifound this on the hall table. Remember what I have told you aboutkeeping quiet; good-night!' Eustace retires. Dexter looks at thepaper, and reads these lines in pencil: 'Just returned. Pleaseforgive me for going to bed without saying good-night. I haveoverexerted myself; I am dreadfully fatigued. (Signed) Helena.'Dexter is by nature suspicious. Dexter suspects Mrs. Beauly.Never mind his reasons; there is no time to enter into hisreasons now. He puts the ease to himself thus: 'A weary womanwould never have given herself the trouble to write this. Shewould have found it much less fatiguing to knock at thedrawing-room door as she passed, and to make her apologies byword of mouth. I see something here out of the ordinary way; Ishall make a night of it in my chair. Very good. Dexter proceedsto make a night of it. He opens his door; wheels himself softlyinto the corridor; locks the doors of the two empty bedrooms, andreturns (with the keys in his pocket) to his own room. 'Now,'says D. to himself, 'if I hear a door softly opened in this partof the house, I shall know for certain it is Mrs. Beauly's door!'Upon that he closes his own door, leaving the tiniest littlechink to look through; puts out his light; and waits and watchesat his tiny little chink, like a cat at a mouse-hole. Thecorridor is the only place he wants to see; and a lamp burnsthere all night. Twelve o'clock strikes; he hear s the doorsbelow bolted and locked, and nothing happens. Half-pasttwelve--and nothing still. The house is as silent as the grave.One o'clock; two o'clock--same silence. Half-past two--andsomething happens at last. Dexter hears a sound close by, in thecorridor. It is the sound of a handle turning very softly in adoor--in the only door that can be opened, the door of Mrs.Beauly's room. Dexter drops noiselessly from his chair onto hishands; lies flat on the floor at his chink, and listens. He hearsthe handle closed again; he sees a dark object flit by him; hepops his head out of his door, down on the floor where nobodywould think of looking for him. And what does he see? Mrs.Beauly! There she goes, with the long brown cloak over hershoulders, which she wears when she is driving, floating behindher. In a moment more she disappears, past the fourth bedroom,and turns at a right angle, into a second corridor, called theSouth Corridor. What rooms are in the South Corridor? There arethree rooms. First room, the little study, mentioned in thenurse's evidence. Second room, Mrs. Eustace Macallan'sbedchamber. Third room, her husband's bedchamber. What does Mrs.Beauly (supposed to be worn out by fatigue) want in that part ofthe house at half-past two in the morning? Dexter decides onrunning the risk of being seen--and sets off on a voyage ofdiscovery. Do you know how he gets from place to place withouthis chair? Have you seen the poor deformed creature hop on hishands? Shall he show you how he does it, before he goes on withhis story?"

I hastened to stop the proposed exhibition.

"I saw you hop last night," I said. "Go on!--pray go on with yourstory!

"Do you like my dramatic style of narrative?" he asked. "Am Iinteresting?"

"Indescribably interesting, Mr. Dexter. I am eager to hear more."

He smiled in high approval of his own abilities.

"I am equally good at the autobiographical style," he said."Shall we try that next, by way of variety?"

"Anything you like," I cried, losing all patience with him, "ifyou will only go on!"

"Part Two; Autobiographical Style," he announced, with a wave ofhis hand. "I hopped along the Guests' Corridor, and turned intothe South Corridor. I stopped at the little study. Door open;nobody there. I crossed the study to the second door,communicating with Mrs. Macallan's bedchamber. Locked! I lookedthrough the keyhole Was there something hanging over it, on theother side? I can't say--I only know there was nothing to be seenbut blank darkness. I listened. Nothing to be heard. Same blankdarkness, same absolute silence, inside the locked second door ofMrs. Eustace's room, opening on the corridor. I went on to herhusband's bedchamber. I had the worst possible opinion of Mrs.Beauly--I should not have been in the least surprised if I hadcaught her in Eustace's room. I looked through the keyhole. Inthis case, the key was out of it--or was turned the right way forme--I don't know which. Eustace's bed was opposite the door. Nodiscovery. I could see him, all by himself, innocently asleep. Ireflected a little. The back staircase was at the end of thecorridor, beyond me. I slid down the stairs, and looked about meon the lower floor, by the light of the night-lamp. Doors allfast locked and keys outside, so that I could try them myself.House door barred and bolted. Door leading into the servants'offices barred and bolted. I got back to my own room, and thoughtit out quietly. Where could she be? Certainly _in_ the house,somewhere. Where? I had made sure of the other rooms; the fieldof search was exhausted. She could only be in Mrs. Macallan'sroom--the _one_ room which had baffled my investigations; the_only_ room which had not lent itself to examination. Add to thisthat the key of the door in the study, communicating with Mrs.Macallan's room, was stated in the nurse's evidence to bemissing; and don't forget that the dearest object of Mrs.Beauly's life (on the showing of her own letter, read at theTrial) was to be Eustace Macallan's happy wife. Put these thingstogether in your own mind, and you will know what my thoughtswere, as I sat waiting for events in my chair, without my tellingyou. Toward four o'clock, strong as I am, fatigue got the betterof me. I fell asleep. Not for long. I awoke with a start andlooked at my watch. Twenty-five minutes past four. Had she gotback to her room while I was asleep? I hopped to her door andlistened. Not a sound. I softly opened the door. The room wasempty. I went back again to my own room to wait and watch. It washard work to keep my eyes open. I drew up the window to let thecool air refresh me; I fought hard with exhausted nature, andexhausted nature won. I fell asleep again. This time it was eightin the morning when I awoke. I have goodish ears, as you may havenoticed. I heard women's voices talking under my open window. Ipeeped out. Mrs. Beauly and her maid in close confabulation! Mrs.Beauly and her maid looking guiltily about them to make sure thatthey were neither seen nor heard! 'Take care, ma'am,' I heard themaid say; 'that horrid deformed monster is as sly as a fox. Mindhe doesn't discover you.' Mrs. Beauly answered, 'You go first,and look out in front; I will follow you, and make sure there isnobody behind us.' With that they disappeared around the cornerof the house. In five minutes more I heard the door of Mrs.Beauly's room softly opened and closed again. Three hours laterthe nurse met her in the corridor, innocently on her way to makeinquiries at Mrs. Eustace Macallan's door. What do you think ofthese circumstances? What do you think of Mrs. Beauly and hermaid having something to say to each other, which they didn'tdare say in the house--for fear of my being behind some doorlistening to them? What do you think of these discoveries of minebeing made on the very morning when Mrs. Eustace was takenill--on the very day when she died by a poisoner's hand? Do yousee your way to the guilty person? And has mad Miserrimus Dexterbeen of some assistance to you, so far?"

I was too violently excited to answer him. The way to thevindication of my husband's innocence was opened to me at last!

"Where is she?" I cried. "And where is that servant who is in herconfidence?"

"I can't tell you," he said. "I don't know."

"Where can I inquire? Can you tell me that?"

He considered a little. "There is one man who must know where sheis--or who could find it out for you," he said.

"Who is he? What is his name?"

"He is a friend of Eustace's. Major Fitz-David."

"I know him! I am going to dine with him next week. He has askedyou to dine too."

Miserrimus Dexter laughed contemptuously.

"Major Fitz-David may do very well for the ladies," he said. "Theladies can treat him as a species of elderly human lap-dog. I dont dine with lap-dogs; I have said, No. You go. He or some of hisladies may be of use to you. Who are the guests? Did he tellyou?"

"There was a French lady whose name I forget," I said, "and LadyClarinda--"

"That will do! She is a friend of Mrs. Beauly's. She is sure toknow where Mrs. Beauly is. Come to me the moment you have gotyour information. Find out if the maid is with her: she is theeasiest to deal with of the two. Only make the maid open herlips, and we have got Mrs. Beauly. We crush her," he cried,bringing his hand down like lightning on the last languid fly ofthe season, crawling over the arm of his chair--"we crush her asI crush this fly. Stop! A question--a most important question indealing with the maid. Have you got any money?"

"Plenty of money."

He snapped his fingers joyously.

"The maid is ours!" he cried. "It's a matter of pounds,shillings, and pence with the maid. Wait! Another question. Aboutyour name? If you approach Mrs. Beauly in your own character asEustace's wife, you approach her as the woman who has taken herplace--you make a mortal enemy of her at starting. Beware ofthat!"

My jealousy of Mrs. Beauly, smoldering in me all through theinterview, burst into flames at those words. I could resist it nolonger--I was obliged to ask him if my husband had ever lovedher.

"Tell me the truth," I said. "Did Eustace really--?"

He burst out laughing maliciously, he penetrated my jealousy, andguessed my question almost before it had passed my lips.

"Yes," he said, "Eustace did really love her--and no mistakeabout it. She had every reason to believe (before the Trial) thatthe wife's death would put her in the wife's place. But the Trialmade another man of Eustace. Mrs. Beauly had been a witness ofthe public degradation of him. That was enough to prevent hismarrying Mrs. Beauly. He broke off with her at once andforever--for the same reason precisely which has led him toseparate himself from you. Existence with a woman who knew thathe had been tried for his life as a murderer was an existencethat he was not hero enough to face. You wanted the truth. Thereit is! You have need to be cautious of Mrs. Beauly--you have noneed to be jealous of her. Take the safe course. Arrange with theMajor, when you meet Lady Clarinda at his dinner, that you meether under an assumed name."

"I can go to the dinner," I said, "under the name in whichEustace married me. I can go as 'Mrs. Woodville.'"

"The very thing!" he exclaimed. "What would I not give to bepresent when Lady Clarinda introduces you to Mrs. Beauly! Thinkof the situation. A woman with a hideous secret hidden in herinmost soul: and another woman who knows of it--another woman whois bent, by fair means or foul, on dragging that secret into thelight of day. What a struggle! What a plot for a novel! I am in afever when I think of it. I am beside myself when I look into thefuture, and see Mrs. Borgia-Beauly brought to her knees at last.Don't be alarmed!" he cried, with the wild light flashing oncemore in his eyes. "My brains are beginning to boil again in myhead. I must take refuge in physical exercise. I must blow offthe steam, or I shall explode in my pink jacket on the spot!"

The old madness seized on him again. I made for the door, tosecure my retreat in case of necessity--and then ventured to lookaround at him.

He was off on his furious wheels--half man, half chair--flyinglike a whirlwind to the other end of the room. Even this exercisewas not violent enough for him in his present mood. In an instanthe was down on the floor, poised on his hands, and looking in thedistance like a monstrous frog. Hopping down the room, heoverthrew, one after another, all the smaller and lighter chairsas he passed them; arrived at the end, he turned, surveyed theprostrate chairs, encouraged himself with a scream of triumph,and leaped rapidly over chair after chair on his hands--hislimbless body now thrown back from the shoulders, and now thrownforward to keep the balance--in a manner at once wonderful andhorrible to behold. "Dexter's Leap-frog!" he cried, cheerfully,perching himself with his birdlike lightness on the last of theprostrate chairs when he had reached the further end of the room."I'm pretty active, Mrs. Valeria, considering I'm a cripple. Letus drink to the hanging of Mrs. Beauly in another bottle ofBurgundy!"

I seized desperately on the first excuse that occurred to me forgetting away from him.

"You forget," I said--"I must go at once to the Major. If I don'twarn him in time, he may speak of me to Lady Clarinda by thewrong name."

Ideas of hurry and movement were just the ideas to take his fancyin his present state. He blew furiously on the whistle thatsummoned Ariel from the kitchen regions, and danced up and downon his hands in the full frenzy of his delight.

"Ariel shall get you a cab!" he cried. "Drive at a gallop to theMajor's. Set the trap for her without losing a moment. Oh, what aday of days this has been! Oh, what a relief to get rid of mydreadful secret, and share it with You! I am suffocating withhappiness--I am like the Spirit of the Earth in Shelley's poem."He broke out with the magnificent lines in "Prometheus Unbound,"in which the Earth feels the Spirit of Love, and bursts intospeech. "'The joy, the triumph, the delight, the madness! theboundless, overflowing, bursting gladness! the vaporousexultation not to be confined! Ha! ha! the animation of delight,which wraps me like an atmosphere of light, and bears me as acloud is borne by its own wind.' That's how I feel,Valeria!--that's how I feel!"

I crossed the threshold while he was still speaking. The last Isaw of him he was pouring out that glorious flood of words--hisdeformed body, poised on the overthrown chair, his face lifted inrapture to some fantastic heaven of his own making. I slipped outsoftly into the antechamber. Even as I crossed the room, hechanged once more. I heard his ringing cry; I heard the softthump-thump of his hands on the floor. He was going down the roomagain, in "Dexter's Leap-frog," flying over the prostrate chairs.

In the hall, Ariel was on the watch for me.

As I approached her, I happened to be putting on my gloves. Shestopped me; and, taking my right arm, lifted my hand toward herface. Was she going to kiss it? or to bite it?" Neither. Shesmelt it like a dog--and dropped it again with a hoarse chucklinglaugh.

"You don't smell of his perfumes," she said. "You _haven't_touched his beard. _Now_ I believe you. Want a cab?"

"Thank you. I'll walk till I meet a cab."

She was bent on being polite to me--now I had _not_ touched hisbeard.

"I say!" she burst out, in her deepest notes.

"Yes?"

"I'm glad I didn't upset you in the canal. There now!"

She gave me a friendly smack on the shoulder which nearly knockedme down--relapsed, the instant after, into her leaden stolidityof look and manner---and led the way out by the front door. Iheard her hoarse chuckling laugh as she locked the gate behindme. My star was at last in the ascendant! In one and the same dayI had found my way into the confidence of Ariel and Ariel'smaster.