though not indelibly--just such a mark as I had seen upon the dead
man's hand. But I dismissed the fantastic notion as bred
of the night's horrors, and worthy only of a mediaeval legend.
No doubt she was some friend or acquaintance of Sir Crichton
who lived close by.

"I cannot say that he has been murdered," I replied, acting upon the latter
supposition, and seeking to tell her what she asked as gently as possible.

"But he is--Dead?"

I nodded.

She closed her eyes and uttered a low, moaning sound, swaying dizzily.
Thinking she was about to swoon, I threw my arm round her shoulder
to support her, but she smiled sadly, and pushed me gently away.

"I am quite well, thank you," she said.

"You are certain? Let me walk with you until you feel quite
sure of yourself."

She shook her head, flashed a rapid glance at me with her beautiful eyes,
and looked away in a sort of sorrowful embarrassment, for which I was entirely
at a loss to account. Suddenly she resumed:

"I cannot let my name be mentioned in this dreadful matter, but--I think
I have some information--for the police. Will you give this to--
whomever you think proper?"