“What was it?”

“He said they were probably destroyed by Vaughan himself, because of his dislike of Swain.  He said that would be characteristic of Vaughan’s form of insanity.”

Godfrey took another turn up and down, then he stopped in front of my chair.

“What did Miss Vaughan think of that explanation?” he asked.

“It didn’t seem to impress her, but I don’t remember that she made any comment.”

He stood a moment longer staring down at me, and I could feel the intense concentration of his mind; then he ran his fingers impatiently through his hair.

“I can’t get it, Lester!” he said.  “I can’t get it.  But I will get it!  It’s there!  It’s there, just out of reach.”  He shrugged his shoulders and glanced at his watch.  “I’m getting dippy,” he added, in another tone.  “Let’s go out and get a breath of air.”

I followed him out into the yard—­I knew where he was going—­among the trees and up the ladder.  Silently we took our places on the limb; silently we stared out into the darkness.

And there, presently, the strange star glowed and burned steel-blue, and floated slowly down, and burst above a white-robed figure, standing as though carved in marble, its arms extended, its head thrown back.

“That fellow is certainly an artist,” Godfrey muttered, as he led the way back to the house.

CHAPTER XIX

THE YOGI CONQUERS

The events of the day that followed—­Sunday—­I shall pass over as briefly as may be.  It was for me a day of disappointment, culminating in despair, and, looking back at it, I remember it as a grey day, windy, and with gusts of rain.

Dr. Hinman stopped for us, and Godfrey and I accompanied him to the service over the body of the murdered man.  We were the only outsiders there, besides the undertaker and his assistants, and they were not admitted to the ceremony.  This was witnessed only by Miss Vaughan, Mahbub and us three.  The servants were not there, and neither were Miss Vaughan’s nurses.

I have never seen a more impressive figure than Silva made that morning.  His robes were dead black, and in contrast to them and to his hair and beard, his face looked white as marble.  But, after the first moments, the ceremony failed to interest me; for Silva spoke a language which I supposed to be Hindustani, and there was a monotony about it and about his gestures which ended in getting on my nerves.  It lasted half an hour, and the moment it was over, Miss Vaughan slipped away.  The yogi and Mahbub followed her, and then we three stepped forward for a last look at the body.

It was robed all in white.  The undertaker had managed to compose the features, and the high stock concealed the ugly marks upon the neck.  So there was nothing to tell of the manner of his death, and there was a certain majesty about him as he lay with hands crossed and eyes closed.