“I was at the club for one thing,” said Mr. T-; “then I went to see a lady friend, where I stayed until eleven.  She wore a blue muslin—­What is that?”

I had betrayed myself by a quick movement which sent a glass tumbler crashing to the floor.  Zulma Zabriskie had worn a blue muslin on that same night.  You will find it noted in the report given me by the policeman who saw her on their balcony.

“That noise?” It was Joe who was speaking.  “You don’t know Reuben as well as I do or you wouldn’t ask.  It is his practice, I am sorry to say, to accentuate his pleasure in draining my bottles by dropping a glass at every third one.”

Mr. T—­ went on.

“She was a married woman and I thought she loved me; but—­and this is the greatest proof I can offer you that I am giving you a true account of that night—­she had not the slightest idea of the extent of my passion, and only consented to see me at all because she thought, poor thing, that a word from her would set me straight, and rid her of attentions she evidently failed to appreciate.  A sorry figure for a fellow like me to cut; but you caught me on the most detestable date in my calendar and—­”

There he ceased being interesting and I anxious.  The secret of a crime for which there seemed to be no reasonable explanation is no longer a mystery to me.  I have but to warn Miss Strange—­

He had got thus far when a sound in the room behind him led him to look up.  A lady had entered; a lady heavily veiled and trembling with what appeared to be an intense excitement.

He thought he knew the figure, but the person, whoever it was, stood so still and remained so silent, he hesitated to address her; which seeing, she pushed up her veil and all doubt vanished.

It was Violet herself.  In disregard of her usual practice she had come alone to the office.  This meant urgency of some kind.  Had she too sounded this mystery?  No, or her aspect would not have worn this look of triumph.  What had happened then?  He made an instant endeavour to find out.

“You have news,” he quietly remarked.  “Good news, I should judge, by your very cheery smile.”

“Yes; I think I have found the way of bringing Dr. Zabriskie to himself.”

Astonished beyond measure, so little did these words harmonize with the impressions and conclusions at which he had just arrived, something very like doubt spoke in his voice as he answered with the simple exclamation: 

“You do!”

“Yes.  He is obsessed by a fixed idea, and must be given an opportunity to test the truth of that idea.  The shock of finding it a false one may restore him to his normal condition.  He believes that he shot Mr. Hasbrouck with no other guidance than his sense of hearing.  Now if it can be proved that his hearing is an insufficient guide for such an act (as of course it is) the shock of the discovery may clear his brain of its cobwebs.  Mrs. Zabriskie thinks so, and the police—­”