At this phenomenon I stared in speechless astonishment; for whilst it resembled steam or the early morning mist which one sometimes sees upon the grass in hot weather, I was wholly at a loss to account for its presence inside my cottage!

“Good heavens!” cried Gatton, and grasped me by the arm with so strong a grip that I almost cried out. “Look!  Look!”

“What the devil is it?” I muttered; and turning, I stared into his face.  “What can it be?”

“Stand back,” he said strangely, and pulled me out into the porch.  “Do you notice a peculiar smell?”

“I do—­a most foul and abominable smell.”

Gatton nodded grimly.

“God knows what has happened here since you left,” he said; “but of one thing I am sure—­you must certainly bear a charmed life, Mr. Addison.  There has been a third attempt at your removal!”

This choking smell which now rose to my nostrils had in it something vaguely familiar, yet something which at that place and that time I found myself unable to identify; but: 

“We shall have to open the windows!” rapped Gatton.

Suiting the action to the word, he took out his handkerchief, and holding it to his nostrils went running along the corridor, his feet oddly enveloped in that mysterious mist.  A moment later I heard the bang of a swiftly raised window, then another, and: 

“Stand clear of the door!” called a muffled voice.

A moment later Gatton came racing back again, coughing and choking because of the fumes which arose from that supernatural fog carpeting the passages.

The chauffeur now appeared upon the path leading from the gate to the porch, but: 

“Stay by the car!” ordered Gatton.  “Don’t move without instructions.”

I scarcely noted his words.  For I was watching the gray fog.  In the dusk I could see it streaming out, that deathly mist, and creeping away across grass and flower-beds, right and left of the door.

“Give it a chance to clear,” said Gatton; “I fancy one good whiff would finish any man!”

Even as he spoke the words the nature of this vapor suddenly occurred to me, and: 

“The Abbey Inn!” I whispered.  “The Abbey Inn!”

“Ah!” said he—­“you’ve solved the mystery, have you?  But can you explain how this stuff comes to be floating about the floor of your house?”

“I cannot,” I confessed.  “But at all costs we must go in.  We must learn the worst!”

“Yes, we’ll risk it now,” said the Inspector.

Close together we entered and made our way towards the study.  As we passed the door-way of the ante-room in which the telephone was placed.  I glanced, aside, and thereupon: 

“My God, Gatton!” I groaned.  “Look!”

He pulled up and the two of us stood, horror-stricken, rooted to the spot, looking into the little room.

I have said that Coates invariably closed the windows before leaving the house, but here the window was open.  Prone upon the floor was stretched the figure of a man!