“It appears that one of the latter, the one on the right hand, was partly off, leaving the thumb and wrist bare.  That hand held a small satchel, which the police opened, with a view to the possible identification of the deceased, but which was found to contain only a little loose silver, some smelling-salts, and a small empty bottle, which was handed over to the medical officer for purposes of analysis.

“It was the presence of that small bottle which had caused the report to circulate freely that the mysterious case on the Underground Railway was one of suicide.  Certain it was that neither about the lady’s person, nor in the appearance of the railway carriage, was there the slightest sign of struggle or even of resistance.  Only the look in the poor woman’s eyes spoke of sudden terror, of the rapid vision of an unexpected and violent death, which probably only lasted an infinitesimal fraction of a second, but which had left its indelible mark upon the face, otherwise so placid and so still.”

“The body of the deceased was conveyed to the mortuary.  So far, of course, not a soul had been able to identify her, or to throw the slightest light upon the mystery which hung around her death.

“Against that, quite a crowd of idlers—­genuinely interested or not—­obtained admission to view the body, on the pretext of having lost or mislaid a relative or a friend.  At about 8.30 p.m. a young man, very well dressed, drove up to the station in a hansom, and sent in his card to the superintendent.  It was Mr. Hazeldene, shipping agent, of 11, Crown Lane, E.C., and No. 19, Addison Row, Kensington.

“The young man looked in a pitiable state of mental distress; his hand clutched nervously a copy of the St. James’s Gazette, which contained the fatal news.  He said very little to the superintendent except that a person who was very dear to him had not returned home that evening.

“He had not felt really anxious until half an hour ago, when suddenly he thought of looking at his paper.  The description of the deceased lady, though vague, had terribly alarmed him.  He had jumped into a hansom, and now begged permission to view the body, in order that his worst fears might be allayed.

“You know what followed, of course,” continued the man in the corner, “the grief of the young man was truly pitiable.  In the woman lying there in a public mortuary before him, Mr. Hazeldene had recognized his wife.

“I am waxing melodramatic,” said the man in the corner, who looked up at Polly with a mild and gentle smile, while his nervous fingers vainly endeavoured to add another knot on the scrappy bit of string with which he was continually playing, “and I fear that the whole story savours of the penny novelette, but you must admit, and no doubt you remember, that it was an intensely pathetic and truly dramatic moment.

“The unfortunate young husband of the deceased lady was not much worried with questions that night.  As a matter of fact, he was not in a fit condition to make any coherent statement.  It was at the coroner’s inquest on the following day that certain facts came to light, which for the time being seemed to clear up the mystery surrounding Mrs. Hazeldene’s death, only to plunge that same mystery, later on, into denser gloom than before.