no jewels were found on her, or anywhere in the room. So that many
points remain mysterious. What part did the burglars play in the
tragedy? Were they in collusion with Cibras? Had the strange behaviour
of at least one of the inmates of Orven Hall no hidden significance?
The wildest guesses were made throughout the country; theories
propounded. But no theory explained _all_ the points. The ferment,
however, has now subsided. To-morrow morning Maude Cibras ends her life
on the gallows.'

Thus I ended my narrative.

Without a word Zaleski rose from the couch, and walked to the organ.
Assisted from behind by Ham, who foreknew his master's every whim, he
proceeded to render with infinite feeling an air from the _Lakmé_ of
Delibes; long he sat, dreamily uttering the melody, his head sunken on
his breast. When at last he rose, his great expanse of brow was clear,
and a smile all but solemn in its serenity was on his lips. He walked
up to an ivory _escritoire_, scribbled a few words on a sheet of paper,
and handed it to the negro with the order to take my trap and drive
with the message in all haste to the nearest telegraph office.

'That message,' he said, resuming his place on the couch, 'is a last
word on the tragedy, and will, no doubt, produce some modification in
the final stage of its history. And now, Shiel, let us sit together and
confer on this matter. From the manner in which you have expressed
yourself, it is evident that there are points which puzzle you--you do
not get a clean _coup d'oeil_ of the whole regiment of facts, and their
causes, and their consequences, as they occurred. Let us see if out of
that confusion we cannot produce a coherence, a symmetry. A great wrong
is done, and on the society in which it is done is imposed the task of