“You say you never saw the woman before?”

“Never, sir.”

“Had she ever been here before?”

“I don’t think so, sir.  The first thing she asked was if this was where Mr. Vantine lived.”

Grady nodded.

“Very good, Rogers,” he said.  “I’ll be offering you a place on the force next.  Would you know this woman if you saw her again?”

Rogers hesitated.

“I wouldn’t like to say sure, sir,” he answered, at last.  “I might and I might not.”

“Red lips and a white face and bright eyes aren’t much to go on,” Grady pointed out.  “Can’t you give us a closer description?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.  I just got a general impression, like, of her face through her veil.”

“You say you didn’t search these rooms?”

“No, sir, I didn’t come inside the door.”

“Why not?”

“I was afraid to, sir.”

“Afraid to?”

“Yes, sir; I’m afraid to be here now.”

“Did Parks come in?”

“No, sir; I guess he felt the same way I did.”

“Then how did you know Vantine was dead?  Why didn’t you try to help him?”

“One look was enough to tell me that wasn’t no use,” said Rogers, and glanced, with visible horror, at the crumpled form on the floor.

Grady looked at him keenly for a moment; but there seemed to be no reason to doubt his story.  Then the detective looked about the room.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” he said, “and that is why Vantine should want all these lights.  What was he doing in here?”

“I couldn’t be sure, sir; but I suppose he was looking at the furniture he brought over from Europe.  He was a collector, you know, sir.  There are five or six pieces in the next room.”

Without a word, Grady arose and passed into the room adjoining, we after him; only Rogers remained seated where he was.  I remember glancing back over my shoulder and noting how he huddled forward in his chair, as though crushed by a great weight, the instant our backs were turned.

But I forgot Rogers in contemplation of the scene before me.

The inner room was ablaze with light, and the furniture stood hap-hazard about it, just as I had seen it earlier in the day.  Only one thing had been moved.  That was the Boule cabinet.

It had been carried to the centre of the room, and placed in the full glare of the light from the chandelier.  It stood there blazing with arrogant beauty, a thing apart.

Who had helped Vantine place it there, I wondered?  Neither Rogers nor Parks had mentioned doing so.  I turned back to the outer room.

Rogers was sitting crouched forward in his chair, his hands over his eyes, and I could feel him jerk with nervousness as I touched him on the shoulder.

“Oh, is it you, Mr. Lester?” he gasped.  “Pardon me, sir; I’m not at all myself, sir.”

“I can see that,” I said, soothingly; “and no wonder.  I just wanted to ask you—­did you help move any of the furniture in the room yonder?”