Well, dear lady, be anxious no longer.  I have just lived through the most astounding day of all the astounding days that have been my portion since last Thursday.  And now, in the dusk, I sit again in my rooms, a free man, and write to you in what peace and quiet I can command after the startling adventure through which I have recently passed.

Suspicion no longer points to me; constables no longer eye me; Scotland Yard is not even slightly interested in me.  For the murderer of Captain Fraser-Freer has been caught at last!

Sunday night I spent ingloriously in a cell in Scotland Yard.  I could not sleep.  I had so much to think of—­you, for example, and at intervals how I might escape from the folds of the net that had closed so tightly about me.  My friend at the consulate, Watson, called on me late in the evening; and he was very kind.  But there was a note lacking in his voice, and after, he was gone the terrible certainty came into my mind—­he believed that I was guilty after all.

The night passed, and a goodly portion of to-day went by—­as the poets say—­with lagging feet.  I thought of London, yellow in the sun.  I thought of the Carlton—­I suppose there are no more strawberries by this time.  And my waiter—­that stiff-backed Prussian—­is home in Deutschland now, I presume, marching with his regiment.  I thought of you.

At three o’clock this afternoon they came for me and I was led back to the room belonging to Inspector Bray.  When I entered, however, the inspector was not there—­only Colonel Hughes, immaculate and self-possessed, as usual, gazing out the window into the cheerless stone court.  He turned when I entered.  I suppose I must have had a most woebegone appearance, for a look of regret crossed his face.

“My dear fellow,” he cried, “my most humble apologies!  I intended to have you released last night.  But, believe me, I have been frightfully busy.”

I said nothing.  What could I say?  The fact that he had been busy struck me as an extremely silly excuse.  But the inference that my escape from the toils of the law was imminent set my heart to thumping.

“I fear you can never forgive me for throwing you over as I did yesterday,” he went on.  “I can only say that it was absolutely necessary—­as you shall shortly understand.”

I thawed a bit.  After all, there was an unmistakable sincerity in his voice and manner.

“We are waiting for Inspector Bray,” continued the colonel.  “I take it you wish to see this thing through?”

“To the end,” I answered.

“Naturally.  The inspector was called away yesterday immediately after our interview with him.  He had business on the Continent, I understand.  But fortunately I managed to reach him at Dover and he has come back to London.  I wanted him, you see, because I have found the murderer of Captain Fraser-Freer.”

I thrilled to hear that, for from my point of view it was certainly a consummation devoutly to be wished.  The colonel did not speak again.  In a few minutes the door opened and Bray came in.  His clothes looked as though he had slept in them; his little eyes were bloodshot.  But in those eyes there was a fire I shall never forget.  Hughes bowed.