“I don’t know that I’ve anything else to ask you at present,” said MacDonald, coldly.

“There was one small point,” remarked Sherlock Holmes.  “When you entered the room there was only a candle lighted on the table, was there not?”

“Yes, that was so.”

“By its light you saw that some terrible incident had occurred?”

“Exactly.”

“You at once rang for help?”

“Yes.”

“And it arrived very speedily?”

“Within a minute or so.”

“And yet when they arrived they found that the candle was out and that the lamp had been lighted.  That seems very remarkable.”

Again Barker showed some signs of indecision.  “I don’t see that it was remarkable, Mr. Holmes,” he answered after a pause.  “The candle threw a very bad light.  My first thought was to get a better one.  The lamp was on the table; so I lit it.”

“And blew out the candle?”

“Exactly.”

Holmes asked no further question, and Barker, with a deliberate look from one to the other of us, which had, as it seemed to me, something of defiance in it, turned and left the room.

Inspector MacDonald had sent up a note to the effect that he would wait upon Mrs. Douglas in her room; but she had replied that she would meet us in the dining room.  She entered now, a tall and beautiful woman of thirty, reserved and self-possessed to a remarkable degree, very different from the tragic and distracted figure I had pictured.  It is true that her face was pale and drawn, like that of one who has endured a great shock; but her manner was composed, and the finely moulded hand which she rested upon the edge of the table was as steady as my own.  Her sad, appealing eyes travelled from one to the other of us with a curiously inquisitive expression.  That questioning gaze transformed itself suddenly into abrupt speech.

“Have you found anything out yet?” she asked.

Was it my imagination that there was an undertone of fear rather than of hope in the question?

“We have taken every possible step, Mrs. Douglas,” said the inspector.  “You may rest assured that nothing will be neglected.”

“Spare no money,” she said in a dead, even tone.  “It is my desire that every possible effort should be made.”

“Perhaps you can tell us something which may throw some light upon the matter.”

“I fear not; but all I know is at your service.”

“We have heard from Mr. Cecil Barker that you did not actually see—­that you were never in the room where the tragedy occurred?”

“No, he turned me back upon the stairs.  He begged me to return to my room.”

“Quite so.  You had heard the shot, and you had at once come down.”

“I put on my dressing gown and then came down.”

“How long was it after hearing the shot that you were stopped on the stair by Mr. Barker?”

“It may have been a couple of minutes.  It is so hard to reckon time at such a moment.  He implored me not to go on.  He assured me that I could do nothing.  Then Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper, led me upstairs again.  It was all like some dreadful dream.”