Among the details that added to the mystery’s bulk was the sound of another new but familiar voice—­the voice of the competent Miss Gardner, her discharged secretary.  And Miss Gardner’s voice was not heard for an hour and then heard no more—­but was heard day after day, and her tone was the tone of a person who is acquainted with the management of an establishment and who is giving necessary orders.  And another detail was that William no longer kept to the stable, but seemed now constantly busy within the house.  And another detail was that she became aware that Jack and Mary no longer tried to keep their presence in the house a secret, but went openly forth into the streets together.  And Judge Harvey every day came openly to see them.

But the most bewildering, and yet most clarifying, detail of all was one she observed on the twelfth day since Matilda’s going, the twenty-fifth of her own official absence.

On that afternoon she was standing on a chair entertaining herself by gazing through one of her shutters, when she saw Jack crossing Washington Square.  He was walking very soberly, and about the left sleeve of a quiet gray summer suit was a band of crape.

Mrs. De Peyster stepped down from her chair.  The mystery was lifting.  Somebody was dead!  But who?  Who?

Early the next morning, while the inmates of the house were occupied in the serving or the eating of breakfast, Mrs. De Peyster was startled by a soft knocking at her door.  But instantly she was reassured by the tremulous accents without.

“It’s me, ma’am,—­Matilda.  Let me in—­quick!”

The next instant the door opened and Matilda half staggered, half fell, into the room.  But such a Matilda!  Shivering all over, eyes wildly staring.

“What is it?” cried Mrs. De Peyster, seizing her housekeeper’s arm.

“Oh, ma—­ma—­ma’am,” chattered Matilda.  “It’s—­it’s awful!”

“But what is it?” demanded Mrs. De Peyster, beginning to tremble with an unknown terror.

“Oh, it’s—­it’s awful!  I couldn’t get you word before—­for I didn’t dare write, and my sister wasn’t well enough for me to leave her till last night.”

Mrs. De Peyster shook the shaking Matilda.

“Will you please tell me what’s happened!”

“Yes, ma—­ma’am.  Here’s a copy of the first paper that had anything about it.  The paper’s over a week old.  I brought it along to—­to break the thing to you gently.”

Mrs. De Peyster seized the newspaper.  In the center of its first page was a reproduction of M. Dubois’s painting of herself, and across the paper’s top ran the giant headline:—­

  MRS. DE PEYSTER FOUND
  DEAD IN THE SEINE

Face Disfigured by Water, but Friends in Paris Identify Social Leader by Clothes upon the Body

Mrs. De Peyster sank without a word into a chair, and her face duplicated the ashen hue of Matilda’s.