WE reached London between eight and nine in the evening.Strictly methodical in all his habits, Benjamin had telegraphedto his housekeeper, from Edinburgh, to have supper ready or us byten o'clock, and to send the cabman whom he always employed tomeet us at the station.

Arriving at the villa, we were obliged to wait for a moment tolet a pony-chaise get by us before we could draw up at Benjamin'sdoor. The chaise passed very slowly, driven by a rough-lookingman, with a pipe in his mouth. But for the man, I might havedoubted whether the pony was quite a stranger to me. As thingswere, I thought no more of the matter.

Benjamin's respectable old housekeeper opened the garden gate,and startled me by bursting into a devout ejaculation ofgratitude at the sight of her master. "The Lord be praised, sir!"she cried; "I thought you would never come back!"

"Anything wrong?" asked Benjamin, in his own impenetrably quietway.

The housekeeper trembled at the question, and answered in theseenigmatical words:

"My mind's upset, sir; and whether things are wrong or whetherthings are right is more than I can say. Hours ago, a strange mancame in and asked"--she stopped, as if she were completelybewildered--looked for a moment vacantly at her master--andsuddenly addressed herself to me. "And asked," she proceeded,"when _you_ was expected back, ma'am. I told him what my masterhad telegraphed, and the man says upon that, 'Wait a bit,' hesays; 'I'm coming back.' He came back in a minute or less; and hecarried a Thing in his arms which curdled my blood--it did!--andset me shaking from the crown of my head to the sole of my foot.I know I ought to have stopped it; but I couldn't stand upon mylegs, much less put the man out of the house. In he went, without'_with_ your leave,' or '_by_ your leave,' Mr. Benjamin, sir--inhe went, with the Thing in his arms, straight through to yourlibrary. And there It has been all these hours. And there It isnow. I've spoken to the police; but they wouldn't interfere; andwhat to do next is more than my poor head can tell. Don't you goin by yourself, ma'am! You'll be frightened out of your wits--youwill!"

I persisted in entering the house, for all that. Aided by thepony, I easily solved the mystery of the housekeeper's otherwiseunintelligible narrative. Passing through the dining-room (wherethe supper-table was already laid for us), I looked through thehalf-opened library door.

Yes, there was Miserrimus Dexter, arrayed in his pink jacket,fast asleep in Benjamin's favorite arm-chair! No coverlet hid hishorrible deformity. Nothing was sacrificed to conventional ideasof propriety in his extraordinary dress. I could hardly wonderthat the poor old housekeeper trembled from head to foot when shespoke of him.

"Valeria," said Benjamin, pointing to the Portent in the chair."Which is it--an Indian idol, or a man?"

I have already described Miserrimus Dexter as possessing thesensitive ear of a dog: he now allowed that he also slept thelight sleep of a dog. Quietly as Benjamin had spoken, the strangevoice aroused him on the instant. He rubbed his eyes, and smiledas innocently as a waking child.

"How do you do, Mrs. Valeria?" he said. "I have had a nice littlesleep. You don't know how happy I am to see you again. Who isthis?")

He rubbed his eyes once more! and looked at Benjamin. Not knowingwhat else to do in this extraordinary emergency, I presented myvisitor to the master of the house.

"Excuse my getting up, sir," said Miserrimus Dexter. "I can't getup--I have no legs. You look as if you thought I was occupyingyour chair? If I am committing an intrusion, be so good as to putyour umbrella under me, and give me a jerk. I shall fall on myhands, and I shan't be offended with you. I will submit to atumble and a scolding--but please don't break my heart by sendingme away. That beautiful woman there can be very cruel sometimes,sir, when the fit takes her. She went away when I stood in thesorest need of a little talk with her--she went away, and left meto my loneliness and my suspense. I am a poor deformed wretch,with a warm heart, and, perhaps, an insatiable curiosity as well.Insatiable curiosity (have you ever felt it?) is a curse. I boreit until my brains began to boil in my head; and then I sent formy gardener, and made him drive me here. I like being here. Theair of your library soothes me; the sight of Mrs. Valeria is balmto my wounded heart. She has something to tell me--something thatI am dying to hear. If she is not too tired after her journey,and if you will let her tell it, I promise to have myself takenaway when she has done. Dear Mr. Benjamin, you look like therefuge of the afflicted. I am afflicted. Shake hands like a goodChristian, and take me in."

He held out his hand. His soft blue eyes melted into anexpression of piteous entreaty. Completely stupefied by theamazing harangue of which he had been made the object, Benjamintook the offered hand, with the air of a man in a dream. "I hopeI see you well, sir," he said, mechanically--and then lookedaround at me, to know what he was to do next.

"I understand Mr. Dexter," I whispered. "Leave him to me."

Benjamin stole a last bewildered look at the object in the chair;bowed to it, with the instinct of politeness which never failedhim; and (still with the air of a man in a dream) withdrew intothe next room.

Left together, we looked at each other, for the first moment, insilence.

Whether I unconsciously drew on that inexhaustible store ofindulgence which a woman always keeps in reserve for a man whoowns that he has need of her, or whether, resenting as I did Mr.Playmore's horrible suspicion of him, my heart was especiallyaccessible to feelings of compassion in his unhappy case, Icannot tell. I only know that I pitied Miserrimus Dexter at thatmoment as I had never pitied him yet; and that I spared him thereproof which I should certainly have administered to any otherman who had taken the liberty of establishing himself, uninvited,in Benjamin's house.

He was the first to speak.

"Lady Clarinda has destroyed your confidence in me!" he began,wildly.

"Lady Clarinda has done nothing of the sort," I replied. "She hasnot attempted to influence my opinion. I was really obliged toleave London, as I told you."

He sighed, and closed his eyes contentedly, as if I had relievedhim of a heavy weight of anxiety.

"Be merciful to me," he said, "and tell me something more. I havebeen so miserable in your absence." He suddenly opened his eyesagain, and looked at me with an appearance of the greatestinterest. "Are you very much fatigued by traveling?" heproceeded. "I am hungry for news of what happened at the Major'sdinner party. Is it cruel of me to tell you so, when you have notrested after your journey? Only one question to-night, and I willleave the rest till to-morrow. What did Lady Clarinda say aboutMrs. Beauly? All that you wanted to hear?"

"All, and more," I answered.

"What? what? what?" he cried wild with impatience in a moment.

Mr. Playmore's last prophetic words were vividly present to mymind. He had declared, in the most positive manner, that Dexterwould persist in misleading me, and would show no signs ofastonishment when I repeated what Lady Clarinda had told me ofMrs. Beauly. I resolved to put the lawyer's prophecy--so far asthe question of astonishment was concerned--to the sharpestattainable test. I said not a word to Miserrimus Dexter in theway of preface or preparation: I burst on him with my news asabruptly as possible.

"The person you saw in the corridor was not Mrs. Beauly," I said."It was the maid, dressed in her mistress's cloak and hat. Mrs.Beauly herself was not in the house at all. Mrs. Beauly herselfwas dancing at a masked ball in Edinburgh. There is what the maidtold Lady Clarinda; and there is what Lady Clarinda told _me._"

In the absorbing interest of the moment, I poured out those wordsone after another as fast as they would pass my lips. MiserrimusDexter completely falsified the lawyer's prediction. He shudderedunder the shock. His eyes opened wide with amazement. "Say itagain!" he cried. "I can't take it all in at once. You stun me."

I was more than contented with this result--I triumphed in myvictory. For once, I had really some reason to feel satisfiedwith myself. I had taken the Christian and merciful side in mydiscussion with Mr. Playmore; and I had won my reward. I couldsit in the same room with Miserrimus Dexter, and feel the blessedconviction that I was not breathing the same air with a poisoner.Was it not worth the visit to Edinburgh to have made sure ofthat?

In repeating, at his own desire, what I had already said to him,I took care to add the details which made Lady Clarinda'snarrative coherent and credible. He listened throughout withbreathless attention--here and there repeating the words afterme, to impress them the more surely and the more deeply on hismind.

"What is to be said? what is to be done?" he asked, with a lookof blank despair. "I can't disbelieve it. From first to last,strange as it is, it sounds true."

(How would Mr. Playmore have felt if he had heard those words? Idid him the justice to believe that he would have felt heartilyashamed of himself.)

"There is nothing to be said," I rejoined, "except that Mrs.Beauly is innocent, and that you and I have done her a grievouswrong. Don't you agree with me?"

"I entirely agree with you," he answered, without an instant'shesitation. "Mrs. Beauly is an innocent woman. The defense at theTrial was the right defense after all."

He folded his arms complacently; he looked perfectly satisfied toleave the matter there.

I was not of his mind. To my own amazement, I now found myselfthe least reasonable person of the two!

Miserrimus Dexter (to use the popular phrase) had given me morethan I had bargained for. He had not only done all that I hadanticipated in the way of falsifying Mr. Playmore'sprediction--he had actually advanced beyond my limits. I could gothe length of recognizing Mrs. Beauly's innocence; but at thatpoint I stopped. If the Defense at the Trial were the rightdefense, farewell to all hope of asserting my husband'sinnocence. I held to that hope as I held to my love and my life.

"Speak for yourself," I said. "My opinion of the Defense remainsunchanged."

He started, and knit his brows as if I had disappointed anddispleased him.

"Does that mean that you are determined to go on?"

"It does."

He was downright angry with me. He cast his customary politenessto the winds.

"Absurd! impossible!" he cried, contemptuously. "You haveyourself declared that we wronged an innocent woman when wesuspected Mrs. Beauly. Is there any one else whom we can suspect?It is ridiculous to ask the question. There is no alternativeleft but to accept the facts as they are, and to stir no furtherin the matter of the poisoning at Gleninch. It is childish todispute plain conclusions. You must give up."

"You may be angry with me if you will, Mr. Dexter. Neither youranger nor your arguments will make me give up."

He controlled himself by an effort--he was quiet and polite againwhen he next spoke to me.

"Very well. Pardon me for a moment if I absorb myself in my ownthoughts. I want to do something which I have not done yet."

"What may that be, Mr. Dexter?"

"I am going to put myself into Mrs. Beauly's skin, and to thinkwith Mrs. Beauly's mind. Give me a minute. Thank you."

What did he mean? what new transformation of him was passingbefore my eyes? Was there ever such a puzzle of a man as this?Who that saw him now, intently pursuing his new train of thought,would have recognized him as the childish creature whohad awoke so innocently, and had astonished Benjamin by theinfantine nonsense which he talked? It is said, and said truly,that there are many sides to every human character. Dexter's manysides were developing themselves at such a rapid rate of progressthat they were already beyond my counting.

He lifted his head, and fixed a look of keen inquiry on me.

"I have come out of Mrs. Beauly's skin," he announced. "And Ihave arrived at this result: We are two impetuous people; and wehave been a little hasty in rushing at a conclusion."

He stopped. I said nothing. Was the shadow of a doubt of himbeginning to rise in my mind? I waited, and listened.

"I am as fully satisfied as ever of the truth of what LadyClarinda told you, he proceeded. "But I see, on consideration,what I failed to see at the time. The story admits of twointerpretations--one on the surface, and another under thesurface. I look under the surface, in your interests; and I say,it is just possible that Mrs. Beauly may have been cunning enoughto forestall suspicion, and to set up an Alibi."

I am ashamed to own that I did not understand what he meant bythe last word--Alibi. He saw that I was not following him, andspoke out more plainly.

"Was the maid something more than her mistress's passiveaccomplice?" he said. "Was she the Hand that her mistress used?Was she on her way to give the first dose of poison when shepassed me in this corridor? Did Mrs. Beauly spend the night inEdinburgh--so as to have her defense ready, if suspicion fellupon her?"

My shadowy doubt of him became substantial doubt when I heardthat. Had I absolved him a little too readily? Was he reallytrying to renew my suspicions of Mrs. Beauly, as Mr. Playmore hadforetold? This time I was obliged to answer him. In doing so, Iunconsciously employed one of the phrases which the lawyer hadused to me during my first interview with him.

"That sounds rather far-fetched, Mr. Dexter," I said.

To my relief, he made no attempt to defend the new view that hehad advanced.

"It is far-fetched," he admitted. "When I said it was justpossible--though I didn't claim much for my idea--I said more forit perhaps than it deserved. Dismiss my view as ridiculous; whatare you to do next? If Mrs. Beauly is not the poisoner (either byherself or by her maid), who is? She is innocent, and Eustace isinnocent. Where is the other person whom you can suspect? Have_I_ poisoned her?" he cried, with his eyes flashing, and hisvoice rising to its highest notes. "Do you, does anybody, suspectMe? I loved her; I adored her; I have never been the same mansince her death. Hush! I will trust you with a secret. (Don'ttell your husband; it might be the destruction of ourfriendship.) I would have married her, before she met withEustace, if she would have taken me. When the doctors told me shehad died poisoned--ask Doctor Jerome what I suffered; _he_ cantell you! All through that horrible night I was awake; watchingmy opportunity until I found my way to her. I got into the room,and took my last leave of the cold remains of the angel whom Iloved. I cried over her. I kissed her. for the first and lasttime. I stole one little lock of her hair. I have worn it eversince; I have kissed it night and day. Oh, God! the room comesback to me! the dead face comes back to me! Look! look!"

He tore from its place of concealment in his bosom a littlelocket, fastened by a ribbon around his neck. He threw it to mewhere I sat, and burst into a passion of tears.

A man in my place might have known what to do. Being only awoman, I yielded to the compassionate impulse of the moment.

I got up and crossed the room to him. I gave him back his locket,and put my hand, without knowing what I was about, on the poorwretch's shoulder. "I am incapable of suspecting you, Mr.Dexter," I said, gently. "No such idea ever entered my head. Ipity you from the bottom of my heart."

He caught my hand in his, and devoured it with kisses. His lipsburned me like fire. He twisted himself suddenly in the chair,and wound his arm around my waist. In the terror and indignationof the moment, vainly struggling with him, I cried out for help.

The door opened, and Benjamin appeared on the threshold.

Dexter let go his hold of me.

I ran to Benjamin, and prevented him from advancing into theroom. In all my long experience of my fatherly old friend I hadnever seen him really angry yet. I saw him more than angry now.He was pale--the patient, gentle old man was pale with rage! Iheld him at the door with all my strength.

"You can't lay your hand on a cripple," I said. Send for the manoutside to take him a way.

I drew Benjamin out of the room, and closed and locked thelibrary door. The housekeeper was in the dining-room. I sent herout to call the driver of the pony-chaise into the house.

The man came in--the rough man whom I had noticed when we wereapproaching the garden gate. Benjamin opened the library door instern silence. It was perhaps unworthy of me, but I could _not_resist the temptation to look in.

Miserrimus Dexter had sunk down in the chair. The rough manlifted his master with a gentleness that surprised me. "Hide myface," I heard Dexter say to him, in broken tones. He opened hiscoarse pilot-jacket, and hid his master's head under it, and sowent silently out--with the deformed creature held to his bosom,like a woman sheltering her child.