“But how does this Merrick know you?” Mr. Barton inquired, as the laughter caused by McCabe’s recital subsided.

“He doesn’t know me, he only knows of me,” the man replied.  “I found that out an hour or two later, when I met him in a crowd at the Wellington Hotel;” the speaker glanced curiously in the direction of Harold Mainwaring for an instant, and then continued, “I knew him by his voice, but I spoke with him, and he had no idea who I was.”

“But how has he heard of you?” persisted Mr. Barton.

“There was an American detective — a friend of his — who came over on the ‘Campania’ on the same trip with Mr. Mainwaring.  He was following up a case in London, but he managed to keep his eye on Mr. Mainwaring and kept this Merrick posted of all that he was doing.  It was because of some remarks of his that I got wind of, that I determined from the first to get onto his game.”

“Well, Mac,” said Mr. Barton, tentatively, “are you ready to go to work now?”

The keen eyes flashed for an instant in the attorney’s face, then the man answered quietly, “If you’ve nothing to tell me, I’m ready to go to work on my own hook and in my own way; if you’ve anything to say, I’ll hear it.”

Mr. Barton glanced at the others.  “We had better tell McCabe what we have learned, and also just what our plans are.”

The others bowed in assent, and the chairs were drawn closer together while Mr. Barton, in low tones, told, as briefly and clearly as possible, the discovery which they had made.  McCabe listened to the attorney’s story, but whether or not the secret were already guessed by him, his face gave no sign.  When it was ended he glanced curiously at Harold Mainwaring.

“Mrs. LaGrange told you this?”

“She did.”

“At what time, if you please, sir?”

“At about half-past five.”

“Are you aware, sir, that, with the exception of her maid, you are probably the last person who saw Mrs. LaGrange living?”

“Saw her living!” Harold Mainwaring repeated, astonished, while Mr. Barton demanded, “What do you mean, Mac?”

“I mean, sir,” said McCabe, slowly, “that Mrs. LaGrange committed suicide at about seven o’clock this evening, less than two hours after Mr. Mainwaring saw her.”

“When did you learn of this?” “What do you know of the affair?” questioned the attorneys quickly, while Harold Mainwaring, more deeply shocked than he would have thought possible, listened to the man’s reply.

“I happened along by the Wellington about two hours ago, and saw considerable stir around there.  I learned ’twas a case of suicide, but thought nothing of it till I heard the woman’s name, then I dropped in and picked up the facts in the case,” and he proceeded to relate the details of the affair.

As Harold Mainwaring listened, he recalled the looks and words of the wretched woman, her genuine misery, her falsehood and deceit, her piteous pleadings, and the final rage and scorn with which she had rejected his assistance even in the face of such desperation and despair; and a sickening sense of horror stole over him, rendering him almost oblivious to the conversation around him.