It was a startling conclusion and one which rested, as I thought, upon somewhat slender premises; but nevertheless I found it disquieting.  And recognizing how the more sinister manifestations of that singular green-eyed creature (whom I could never think of as a woman, nor indeed regard as anything quite human) were associated with darkness—­a significantly feline trait—­I confess to a certain apprehension respecting the coming night.  This apprehension was strengthened no doubt by my memories of Gatton’s last words as I had been on the point of setting out from Upper Crossleys.

“With their Friar’s Park base destroyed, Mr. Addison,” he had said, “they will be forced to fly to that other abode, at present unknown, from which I believe they conducted the elaborate assassination of Sir Marcus.  The only alternative is flight from the country, and the mechanism of the C.I.D. having been put into motion, this we may regard as almost impossible—­especially in view of the marked personality of Dr. Damar Greefe.  Of course,” he had added, “they may have some other residence of which we know nothing but I incline to the idea that they will make for London.”

That the published paragraph relating to Eric Coverly’s alleged evidence was in some way associated with this theory of Gatton’s I knew, but of the soundness of his theory I had yet to learn.

Since (as Isobel had that day informed me) the document lodged with her was a profound secret from all, Carton’s inspired paragraph could have been no more than a shot in the dark; and the fact that it had hit the mark one of those seeming coincidences which sometimes rest upon mere chance, but which rested, in this case upon a process of careful reasoning.  The Inspector was certain, as I was certain, of Coverly’s innocence, and he had credited him with an alibi because he knew that if he would but consent to break his inexplicable silence, he was in a position to establish one.  Why he had forestalled Coverly I knew not.

I made a poor and hasty dinner, for I was too excited to eat, and returning to the study, I crossed to the bookcase and took down Maspero’s “Egyptian Art.”  I idly glanced again through those passages which Gatton had copied into his note-book—­the passages relating to the attributes of Bast, the cat-goddess.  My mind rested particularly, I remember, upon the line, “she plays with her victim as with a mouse.”

Stifling a somewhat weary sigh, I returned the book to its place and lingered looking out of the open window into the deepening dusk.  Mentally my mood was a restless one, but it did not reflect itself physically; for I stood there leaning against the window whilst a procession of all the figures associated with the “Oritoga mystery” raced through my mind.

And presently as I stood there contemplating a mental image of the Eurasian doctor, I heard the telephone bell ring.  The sound aroused me in a moment, and walking out into the little ante-room in which the instrument was placed, I took it up—­anticipating Coates, who had immediately come in from the garden where he was engaged at the time.