I watched the play of expression upon Isobel’s face with a depth of sympathy which I cannot attempt to describe.  The successive trials which had been imposed upon her in so short a time had robbed her cheeks of their sweet color and there were dark shadows under her eyes.  The tumult of my own feelings was such that I was scarcely capable of consistent thought nor had I the moral courage to examine those emotions which stirred so wildly within me.

Late on the previous night I had performed the unhappy duty of breaking to her the news of Coverly’s dreadful death.  I shall never forget that black hour.  Her courage, however, under all these trials had been admirable, and although I well knew what it must have cost her, she replied now with perfect composure: 

“Look—­I took it out of my bureau when I heard that you were here, Inspector.”

She took up from the table a foolscap envelope sealed and having her name written upon it in large and somewhat unsteady characters.

“I would suggest,” said Gatton, with a delicacy which earned my gratitude, “that you read it yourself first, Miss Merlin.  If there is anything helpful in it you can then communicate it to me.”

I saw Isobel biting her lip hard, but she resolutely tore open the envelope; and leaving her to read the contents, I joined Gatton at the window.  We both stood staring out for what seemed a very long time, then: 

“It is rather long,” said Isobel in a low voice.

Gatton and I turned together, and saw her, looking even more pale than before, seated by the table holding a sheet of notepaper in her hand.  Without glancing at either of us, she began to read as follows, in an even and monotonous voice which I knew she had adopted to hide her emotion: 

     “This account of my movements on the night of August 6th will only
     be read in the event of my being falsely adjudged guilty of the
     murder of my cousin, Marcus Coverly, or in the event of my death.

“On the afternoon of that date I was informed over the telephone that my fiancee, Isobel Merlin, was meeting Sir Marcus the same night at a place called the Red House.  The address was given me and I was asked, in case I doubted the word of the speaker, to watch Miss Merlin’s movements that evening.

“I had already quarreled with my cousin respecting his unwelcome attentions and although the result did not confirm the promise of the informant, in part at least the information was accurate.  I have no idea of the speaker’s identity except that the voice was the voice of a woman.

“Not desiring to trust any one in such a matter I, myself, obtained in a remote district the dilapidated garments which are now in the possession of the police and respecting which they have subjected me to close examination.  Attired in these and having my face and hands artificially dirtied as a further disguise, I left