“Such things have been known,” Henshaw returned with the flicker of an enigmatical smile.  “But no, I don’t suggest that—­yet.  At present I have got no farther than the conviction that Clement did not kill himself.  I mean to find out for whom that note of his was intended.”

“Not an easy task,” Gifford remarked, with his eye furtively on Kelson, who had become strangely interested.

“It may or may not be easy,” Henshaw returned.  “But it is to be done.  The woman who, intentionally or otherwise, drew my brother down here has to be found, and I mean to find her.”

Kelson was now staring almost stupidly at Gifford.

“Neither of you gentlemen saw my brother dancing?” Henshaw demanded sharply.

“I saw nothing of him at all in the ballroom,” Gifford answered, “as I did not arrive till about midnight.  Did you see him, Harry?” he asked, as though with the design of rousing Kelson from his rather suspicious attitude.

Kelson seemed to pull himself together by an effort.

“No—­yes; I caught a glimpse of him, I think, with a girl in green.”

“You know who she was?” Henshaw demanded.

“I’ve not the vaguest idea,” Kelson answered mechanically.  “I did not see her face.”

Henshaw rose.  Perhaps from Kelson’s manner he gathered that the men were tired, and had had enough of him.  He shook hands, with a word of thanks and an apology.  “We may know more after the inquest to-morrow afternoon,” he remarked, “although I doubt it.  You will let me consult you again, if necessary?  Thanks.  Goodnight.”

As the door closed on Henshaw, Kelson turned quickly to Gifford with a scared face.  “Hugh!” he cried hoarsely, in a voice subdued by fear.  “The blood stain on my cuff that night.  How did it come there?  Was it—?”

Gifford forced a smile.  “My dear Harry, how absurd!  What could that have had to do with it?”

Kelson gave an uncomfortable laugh.  “It is a grim coincidence,” he said.

CHAPTER IX

THE CLOAK OF NIGHT

At the inquest which was held next day nothing was elicited which could offer any solution of the mystery of Clement Henshaw’s death.  It seemed to be pretty generally accepted to be a case of suicide, although that view was opposed in evidence, not only by Gervase Henshaw on general grounds, but also by the medical witnesses, who had grave doubts whether the mortal wound had been self-inflicted.

“Just possible but decidedly improbable, both from the position of the wound and the direction of the blow,” was Dr. Page’s opinion.

It was a downward, oblique stab in the throat which had pierced the larynx and penetrated the jugular vein.  The deceased would have been unable to cry out and would probably have quickly become insensible from asphyxiation.  Unless he was left-handed the stab could scarcely have been self-given.