"And did he call again?"

"Marie said that he sent his card up on several occasions, but she
knew how the affair worried me and did not tell me at the time. I saw
him in the stalls occasionally, and--oh!--"

The last word was a mere murmur. Isobel's expression grew more than
ever troubled.

"He was there last night," she whispered, and raising her eyes to me:
"Tell me how it happened, and where--"

But ere I had time to begin there was an interruption. Dimly, a
telephone bell rang. I could hear the voice of Marie, Isobel's maid,
answering the call then:

"Mr. Coverly to speak to you, madam," said Marie, entering the room.

"He must have only just heard the news!" cried Isobel, rising swiftly
and going out.

Consumed by impatience, I walked up and down the dainty apartment
listening to Isobel's muffled voice speaking in the lobby. Twice I
went to the window and peered down into the street, expecting to see
the thick-set figure of Inspector Gatton approaching. My frame of mind
was peculiar and troubled. Gatton's inquiries pointed unmistakably to
a suspicion that Sir Marcus's last hours had been spent, if not
actually with, at any rate near to Isobel. And since the man who would
most directly profit by the baronet's death happened also to be