Mrs. Hillmer quietly collapsed on the floor. She had fainted.

The barrister rushed out, calling for Mrs. Smith, and responding to Sir Charles d.y.k.e's proffered statement as to the reason for his presence by the startling cry:

"Wait a bit, d.y.k.e. There's a lady in a faint inside. We must attend to her at once."

Mrs. Smith, fortunately, was at hand, and with the help of her ministrations, Mrs. Hillmer gradually regained her senses.

After a whispered colloquy with White, the barrister said to Mensmore:

"You must remove your sister to her residence as quickly as possible.

She is far too highly strung to bear any further questioning to-night.

Perhaps to-morrow, when you and she have discussed matters fully together, you may be able to send for us and clear up this wretched business."

For answer Mensmore silently pressed his hand. With the help of the housekeeper he led his sister from the room, pa.s.sing Sir Charles d.y.k.e in the hall. The baronet politely turned aside, and Mensmore did not look at him, being far too engrossed with his sister to pay heed to aught else at the moment. As for Mrs. Hillmer, she was in such a state of collapse as to be practically unconscious of her surroundings.

She managed to murmur at the door:

"Where are you taking me to, Bertie?"

"Home, dear."

"Home? Oh, thank Heaven!"

They all heard her, and even the detective was constrained to say:

"Poor thing, she needn't have been afraid. She is suffering for some one else."

Sir Charles d.y.k.e grasped Bruce's arm.

"What on earth is going on?" he said.

"Merely a foolish woman worrying herself about others," replied Bruce grimly.

"But those people were my old friends, Mensmore and his sister?"

"Yes."

"What are they doing here?"

"Mensmore has been brought back to London by Mrs. Hillmer to face the allegations made against him with regard to your wife's disappearance.

They came here by their own appointment, and--"

"Did I not tell you that this charge against Mensmore was wild folly on the face of it?"

"So it seems, when we have just discovered that your wife was killed in his sister's house, and Mrs. Hillmer persists in declaring that she was responsible for the crime."

"Look here, Bruce. Don't lose your head like everybody else mixed up in this wretched business. My wife is not dead."

"What!" The cry was a double one, for both Bruce and White gave simultaneous utterance to their amazement.

"It is true. She is alive all the time. I have had a letter from her."

"A letter. Surely, d.y.k.e--"

"I am neither mad nor drunk. The letter reached me by this morning's post. I came here with it as fast as I could travel. I have been in the train all day, and am nearly fainting from hunger."

"Where is it?" cried White. "Is it genuine?"

"I could swear to her writing amidst a thousand letters. Here it is. I have brought some old correspondence of hers for the purpose of comparison, as I could hardly believe my eyes when I first received it."

Bruce was so dumfounded by this remarkable development that he could but mutely take the doc.u.ment produced by the baronet and read it.

He himself recognized Lady d.y.k.e's handwriting, which he had often seen--a clear, bold, well-defined script, more like the caligraphy of a banker than of a fashionable lady.

The letter was dated February 1, bore no other superscription, and read as follows:

"_My Dear Charles_,--I have just seen in the newspapers the announcement of my death, and the theories set on foot to account for my disappearance on November 6. This seems to convey to me the strange fact that you have not received the explanation I sent you of my reasons for leaving London so suddenly. Otherwise you must have kept your own counsel very closely. However, I do not now desire to reopen the question of motive; let it suffice to say that no one save myself was responsible for my disappearance, and that neither you nor any one acquainted with me will ever see me again. Do not search for me; it will be time wasted. If you have legal proof of my death and wish to marry again, be satisfied. Tear up this letter and forget it. I am dead--to you and to the world. You can neither refuse to accept the genuineness of this letter nor trace me by reason of it, as I have taken such precautions that the latter course will be impossible. Let me repeat--forget me.

"ALICE."

The barrister carefully refolded the sheet after scrutinizing the water-mark against the light, and noting that the paper was British made; he then examined the envelope. The obliterating postmark was "London, February 4, 9 P.M., West Strand." The office of delivery was "Wensley, February 6."

"Posted at the West Strand Post-Office on Sat.u.r.day," he said. "Detained in London all Sunday, and delivered to you this morning in the North."

"Exactly."

"It was written three days earlier, if the date be accurate. So the writer is somewhere in Europe."

"That's how I take it," said Sir Charles.

"Unless the whole thing is a fraud."

"How can it be a fraud? I am sure as to the handwriting. Why, even yourself, Bruce, must have a good recollection of my wife's style."

"Undoubtedly. No man born could swear that this was not Lady d.y.k.e's production."

"Well, what are we to do?"

"And what did Mrs. Hillmer mean by kicking up that fuss when we spoke to her?" interpolated White. "I'll take my oath that some one was killed in her house, else how comes it that a woman found in the Thames at Putney is carrying about in her head some of Mrs. Hillmer's ironwork? I wish she hadn't fainted just now. Why, she said herself that she was the cause of Lady d.y.k.e's death, and here is Lady d.y.k.e writing to say she is alive. This business is beyond me, but Mrs. Hillmer has got to explain a good deal yet before I am done with her."

The detective's wrath at this check in the hunt after a criminal did not appeal to the baronet.

"You can please yourself, Mr. White, of course," he said coldly; "but so far as I am concerned, I will respect my wife's wishes, and let the matter rest where it is."

"My dear fellow," said the barrister, "such a course is impossible.

a.s.suming that her ladyship is really alive, why did she leave you?"

"How can I tell? She herself refuses to give a reason. She apparently stated one in a letter which never reached me, as you know. She has selfishly caused me a world of suffering and misery for three long months. I refuse to be plagued in the matter further."