The Darrow mystery solved! 
John Darrow was murdered!

The Assassin’s Inability to Pay a Gambling Debt the
Motive for the Crime.

Extraordinary work of A French detective!

The Net so Completely Woven About the Alleged
Assassin That it is Thought He Will Confess.

The Arrest Entirely Due to the Unassisted Efforts of
M. Louis Godin!

I did not stop to read the article, but seized my hat and hastened at once to Maitland.

A copy of the Herald lay upon his table, advising me that he was already acquainted with the strange turn affairs had taken.  He told me that he had heard the newsboys in the street calling out “The Darrow Mystery Solved!” and had at once rushed out and bought a paper.

I informed him of Gwen’s condition and he wished to go to her at once, but I told him he must wait until the morrow, as she had already retired, and was, I had reason to hope, fast asleep.  I reassured him with the information that a night’s sleep and the medicine I had given her would probably put Gwen in full possession of her faculties.  Having thus satisfied his fears, I thought it fitting he should satisfy mine.  I asked him what had become of the young woman in the next room.  He did not reply, but quietly led me into his camera obscura that I might see for myself.  She was sitting at the table in the centre of the room, with her face buried in her hands.  I watched her for a long time, and the only movement I could discern was that occasioned ever and anon by a convulsive catching of her breath.  The pet monkey was nowhere to be seen.

“They took her father away early this morning,” Maitland said, “and, after the first shock, she sank into this condition.  She has not moved since.  When I see the despair her father’s arrest has occasioned I am almost tempted to rejoice that I had no hand in it, and yet—­well, there’s no great harm without some small good—­no one will say now that John Darrow took his own life, eh?  What do you think our friends, Osborne and Allen, will say now?  They were so sure their theory was the only tenable one.  Ah, well! we should ever hold ourselves in readiness for surprises.”

“And for emergencies too,” I continued; “and this strikes me as being very like one.  That young woman needs attention, if I am any judge of appearances, and I’m going in there.”  “No use, Doc,” Maitland replied, “the door is locked, and she either cannot or will not open it.  I knocked there for an hour, hoping to be able to comfort her.  It’s no use for you to try, she won’t open the door.”  “Won’t, eh! then I’ll go through it!” I exclaimed, in a tone that so amazed Maitland that he seized me by the shoulders and gazed fixedly into my face.  “It’s all right, George,” I said, answering his look.  “I’m going in there, and I’m not going to be at all delicate about my entrance either.”