first."

I did not delay a moment. I took the two packets, which were wrapped in white paper like chemists' parcels, and sealed with red wax. I saw this before I crammed them into my trousers pockets.

I hastily closed the safe, locked it, fastened the panel, and, by turning the rose on the right-hand side of the over-mantel, caused the glass to resume its place.

Then I turned to leave the room, and—found myself standing face to face with Saumarez, the man with the glass eye, who held a revolver levelled at me.

He did not stay to speak, but fired immediately; I dodged my head to one side just in time and heard the bullet go crashing into the looking-glass behind me.

Before he could fire again I hit him with all my might under the ear, and he fell in the corner of the room like a log. Stopping only to possess myself of his revolver, which had dropped by his side, I rushed up the stairs and out into the street; there I inquired of the first person I met, a working man going home, for the nearest doctor, and he directed me to a Dr. Redfern only about ten doors away.

Within a few seconds I was pausing at this door, and endeavouring to make an astonished parlour-maid understand that I wanted to see her master on a matter of life and death.

A placid-looking gentleman made his appearance from a room at the end of the entrance hall while I was speaking to her, with an evening paper in his hand.

"What's the matter?" he asked casually.

"Murder is the matter," I answered between gasps of excitement, "murder at Number 190, and I want you to come at once."

I gave him a brief account of the old lady with her throat cut. He stood looking at me a moment or two, as if in doubt whether I was sane or not, then made up his mind.

"All right," he said, "just wait a moment and I'll come with you."

He reappeared in about a couple of minutes, wearing an overcoat and a tall hat.

"Now," he said, "just lead the way."

We went together straight back to Number 190, and I think he had some misgivings about entering the house with me alone, but I reassured him by reminding him that an old lady was dying within; as it was he made me go first.

"I had no idea any one lived here at all," he remarked, as I lighted him along the passage to the stairs by means of wax vestas, of which I fortunately had a supply, for there was no candle in the hall. "I always thought this house was shut up. But still I have only been here just over twelve months."

"I think you will find," I said, as we got firmly on the basement floor, and saw the reflection of my candle which I had left on the table in the sitting-room, "that there are a good many surprises in this house."

"Now," I continued as we entered the room, "the old lady is lying in there. I will take this candle and show you the way." I led the way into the room, and held the candle aloft, with a shudder at what I expected to see there.

The bed was empty.

I rubbed my eyes and looked again.

No, there was nothing there; the bed looked rather rumpled, but there was no sign whatever of the old lady.

"Well," remarked the doctor sharply—he had followed closely at my heels—"where is your murdered old lady?"

I looked round the bedroom helplessly.

"I would take the most solemn oath," I said steadfastly, "that I left the old lady lying on that bed with her throat cut, and her clothes and the bed appeared soaked in blood."

The doctor walked to the bed and examined it closely, turning back the bedclothes.

"There is not a spot of blood on it," he remarked savagely, "you are dreaming."

But my eyes were sharper than his.

"Look here," I said, and pointed to a small red mark on the wall on the farther side of the bed, "what do you call that?" He leaned over the bed and looked at the little stain through his glasses as I held the light.

"Yes," he said after a close scrutiny, "that might be blood, and, strange to say, it seems wet."

He looked at his finger which had just touched it, and it had a slight smear of blood on it.

I had told him on the staircase that I had been attacked by a man who had fired at me, and indeed the smell of powder even on the landing above was very apparent.

"Now come back into the next room," I said, "and see the body of the man who assailed me and whom I knocked down."

He followed me into the boudoir, and I went straight to the corner where I had last seen Saumarez lying.

There was nothing there!

I gave a great gasp of astonishment.

"I left the man lying there!" I exclaimed, pointing to the floor.

The doctor took the candle lamp from my hands and held it close to my face, scrutinising me earnestly meanwhile through his glasses; then he leant forward and sniffed suspiciously.

"Do you drink?" he asked abruptly.

Then, noticing my look of growing indignation, he altered his tone slightly.

"Excuse my asking the question," he explained. "But it is the only way in which I can account for your symptoms. Do you see things?"

"Things be d——," I replied hotly. "I would answer with my life that I left that poor old lady lying on her bed grievously wounded not half an hour ago, and the villain who assaulted me insensible in this corner!"

The doctor went to the corner and held the candle in such a way as to shed its light upon the floor.

Then he stooped and picked up something.

"What's this?" he exclaimed, holding it close to the candle. "A glass eye," he continued in astonishment, "a glass eye, as I live!"

"There!" I said triumphantly, "the man who fired at me had a glass eye.
Is it not a brown one, shot with blood?"

"Right!" he answered after another glance at it, "a bloodshot brown eye it undoubtedly is."

He handed it to me, and I put it in my pocket.

"You had better take care of it," he said. "But I really don't know what to say about your story."

"Perhaps you will deny the evidence of your eyes?" I asked; "look at this."

I pointed to where the bullet from the revolver had struck the looking-glass over the mantelpiece and starred it.

"No," he answered, "that certainly looks as if it had been smashed by a bullet. There is the little round hole where the bullet entered. And there is another point too," he continued, "you say you left the old lady lying on the bed bleeding, not half an hour ago?"

"Certainly."

"Then the bed ought to be warm; let us come and see."

We walked back into the bedroom and examined the bed again.

It was very evident to me that a fresh coverlet had been put on the bed and fresh sheets. How it could have been done in so short a time was a marvel to me.

The doctor put his hand on the coverlet.

"That is quite cold," he reported, "there can be no question of a doubt about that."

"Let me try inside the bed," I suggested; "that may tell a different tale."

I turned down the bedclothes, and put my hand into the bed. It was distinctly warm!

"Now," I said, turning to the doctor, "do you believe me or not?"

He put his hand into the