Firstly:  the strange likeness of Queen Tera to Margaret who had been born in another country a thousand miles away, where her mother could not possibly have had even a passing knowledge of her appearance.

Secondly:  the disappearance of Van Huyn’s book when I had read up to the description of the Star Ruby.

Thirdly:  the finding of the lamps in the boudoir.  Tera with her astral body could have unlocked the door of Corbeck’s room in the hotel, and have locked it again after her exit with the lamps.  She could in the same way have opened the window, and put the lamps in the boudoir.  It need not have been that Margaret in her own person should have had any hand in this; but—­but it was at least strange.

Fourthly:  here the suspicions of the Detective and the Doctor came back to me with renewed force, and with a larger understanding.

Fifthly:  there were the occasions on which Margaret foretold with accuracy the coming occasions of quietude, as though she had some conviction or knowledge of the intentions of the astral-bodied Queen.

Sixthly:  there was her suggestion of the finding of the Ruby which her father had lost.  As I thought now afresh over this episode in the light of suspicion in which her own powers were involved, the only conclusion I could come to was—­always supposing that the theory of the Queen’s astral power was correct—­that Queen Tera being anxious that all should go well in the movement from London to Kyllion had in her own way taken the Jewel from Mr. Trelawny’s pocket-book, finding it of some use in her supernatural guardianship of the journey.  Then in some mysterious way she had, through Margaret, made the suggestion of its loss and finding.

Seventhly, and lastly, was the strange dual existence which Margaret seemed of late to be leading; and which in some way seemed a consequence or corollary of all that had gone before.

The dual existence!  This was indeed the conclusion which overcame all difficulties and reconciled opposites.  If indeed Margaret were not in all ways a free agent, but could be compelled to speak or act as she might be instructed; or if her whole being could be changed for another without the possibility of any one noticing the doing of it, then all things were possible.  All would depend on the spirit of the individuality by which she could be so compelled.  If this individuality were just and kind and clean, all might be well.  But if not! . . .  The thought was too awful for words.  I ground my teeth with futile rage, as the ideas of horrible possibilities swept through me.