Lionel was lost in abstraction.

“He died at early dawn, just as the sun burst out to illumine the heavens, and at midday he was buried,” continued Captain Cannonby.  “I saw him buried.  I saw the earth shovelled in upon him; nay, I helped to shovel it.  I left him there; we all left him, covered over; at rest for good in this world.  Mr. Verner, dismiss this great fear; rely upon it that he was, and is, dead.”

“I wish I could rely upon it!” spoke Lionel.  “The fear, I may say the certainty, has been so unequivocally impressed upon my belief, that a doubt must remain until it is explained who walks about, bearing his outward appearance.  He was a very remarkable-looking man, you know.  The black mark on his cheek alone would render him so.”

“And that black mark is visible upon the cheek of the person who is seen at night?”

“Conspicuously so.  This ghost—­as it is taken for—­has nearly frightened one or two lives away.  It is very strange.”

“Can it be anybody got up to personate Fred Massingbird?”

“Unless it be himself, that is the most feasible interpretation,” observed Lionel.  “But it does not alter the mystery.  It is not only in the face and the black mark that the likeness is discernible, but in the figure also.  In fact, in all points this man bears the greatest resemblance to Frederick Massingbird—­at least, if the eyes of those who have seen him may be trusted.  My own butler saw him last night; the man passed close before him, turning his face to him in the moment of passing.  He says there can be no doubt that it is Frederick Massingbird.”

Captain Cannonby felt a little staggered.  “If it should turn out to be Frederick Massingbird, all I can say is that I shall never believe anybody’s dead again.  It will be like an incident in a drama.  I should next expect my old father to come to life, who has lain these twelve years past at Kensal Green Cemetery.  Does Mrs. Verner know of this?”

“She does, unfortunately.  She was told of it during my absence yesterday.  I could have wished it kept from her, until we were at some certainty.”

“Oh, come, Mr. Verner, take heart!” impulsively cried Captain Cannonby, all the improbabilities of the case striking forcibly upon him.  “The thing is not possible; it is not indeed.”

“At any rate, your testimony will be so much comfort for my wife,” returned Lionel gladly.  “It has comforted me.  If my fears are not entirely dispelled, there’s something done towards it.”

Arrived at the Belvedere Road, Lionel looked about for his carriage.  He could not see it.  At that moment Jan turned out of the surgery.  Lionel asked him if he had seen Sibylla.

“She is gone home,” replied Jan.  “She and Miss Deb split upon some rock, and Sibylla got into her carriage, and went off in anger.”

He was walking away with his usual rapid strides, on his way to some patient, when Lionel caught hold of him.  “Jan, this is Captain Cannonby.  The friend who was with Frederick Massingbird when he died.  He assures me that he is dead.  Dead and buried.  My brother, Captain Cannonby.”