still. She walked up and down, she roved here and there, smoking any
quantity of cigarettes; she would certainly have forbidden such excess to
a patient. The keyword; its significance had seemed to come to her in
her sleep. Something in that subconsciousness theory? The word explained,
linked up, gave significance--that magical word Morocco!

Yes, they fell into place now, the things that had been so puzzling, and
that looked now so obviously suggestive. Even one thing which she had
thought nothing about, which had not struck her as having any
significance, now took on its meaning--the gray shawl which the old
gentleman so constantly wore swathed round his body, enveloping the whole
of it except his right arm. Did he wear the shawl while he took his
meals? Doctor Mary could not tell as to that. Perhaps he did not; at his
meals only Beaumaroy, and perhaps their servant, would be present. But he
seemed to wear it whenever he went abroad, whenever he was exposed to the
scrutiny of strangers. That indicated secretiveness, perhaps fear, the
apprehension of something. The caution bred by that might give way under
the influence of great cerebral excitement. Unquestionably Mr. Saffron
had been very excited when he waved the sheet of hieroglyphics and
shouted to Beaumaroy about Morocco. But whether he wore the shawl or not
in the safe privacy of Tower Cottage, whatever might be the truth about
that--perhaps he varied his practice according to his condition--on one
thing Doctor Mary would stake her life; he used the combination
knife-and-fork!

For it was over that implement that Beaumaroy had tripped up. It ought to
have been hidden before she was admitted to the cottage. Somebody had
been careless, somebody had blundered--whether Beaumaroy himself or his
servant was immaterial. Beaumaroy had lied, readily and ingeniously, but
not quite readily enough. The dart of his hand had betrayed him; that,