Herbert muttered something about the movies having nothing on us,
and was angrily hushed. There was something quite outside of Miss
Jeremy's words that had impressed itself on all of us with a sense
of unexpected but very real tragedy. As I look back I believe it
was a sort of desperation in her voice. But then came one of
those interruptions which were to annoy us considerably during the
series of sittings; she began to recite Childe Harold.

When that was over,

"Now then," Sperry said in a businesslike voice, "you see a dead
man, and a young woman with him. Can you describe the room?"

"A small room, his dressing-room. He was shaving. There is still
lather on his face."

"And the woman killed him?"

"I don't know. Oh, I don't know. No, she didn't. He did it!"

"He did it himself?"

There was no answer to that, but a sort of sulky silence.

"Are you getting this, Clara?" Mrs. Dane asked sharply. "Don't
miss a word. Who knows what this may develop into?"

I looked at the secretary, and it was clear that she was terrified.
I got up and took my chair to her. Coming back, I picked up my
forgotten watch from the floor. It was still going, and the hands