“What alarmed Miss Frettlby?” asked Brian, in a low voice, covering his face with his hand.

“The sight of her father walking in his sleep, I suppose,” said Chinston, buttoning his glove; “and the shock of his death which took place indirectly through her, accounts for the brain fever.”

“Madge Frettlby is not the woman to scream and waken a somnambulist,” said Calton, decidedly, “knowing as she did the danger.  There must be some other reason.”

“This young woman will tell you all about it,” said Chinston, nodding towards Sal, who entered the room at this moment.  “She was present, and since then has managed things admirably; and now I must go,” he said, shaking hands with Calton and Fitzgerald.  “Keep up your heart, my boy; I’ll pull her through yet.”

After the doctor had gone, Calton turned sharply to Sal Rawlins, who stood waiting to be addressed.

“Well,” he said briskly, “can you tell us what startled Miss Frettlby?”

“I can, sir,” she answered quietly.  “I was in the drawing-room when Mr. Frettlby died—­but—­we had better go up to the study.”

“Why?” asked Calton, in surprise, as he and Fitzgerald followed her up stairs.

“Because, sir,” she said, when they had entered the study and she had locked the door, “I don’t want any one but yourselves to know what I tell you.”

“More mystery,” muttered Calton, as he glanced at Brian, and took his seat at the escritoire.

“Mr. Frettlby went to bed early last night,” said Sal, calmly, “and Miss Madge and I were talking together in the drawing-room, when he entered, walking in his sleep, and carrying some papers—­”

Both Calton and Fitzgerald started, and the latter grew pale.

“He came down the room, and spread out a paper on the table where the lamp was.  Miss Madge bent forward to see what it was.  I tried to stop her, but it was too late.  She gave a scream, and fell on the floor.  In doing so she happened to touch her father.  He awoke, and fell down dead.”

“And the papers?” asked Calton, uneasily.

Sal did not answer, but producing them from her pocket, laid them in his hands.

Brian bent forward, as Calton opened the envelope in silence, but both gave vent to an exclamation of horror at seeing the certificate of marriage which they knew Rosanna Moore had given to Whyte.  Their worst suspicions were confirmed, and Brian turned away his head, afraid to meet the barrister’s eye.  The latter folded up the papers thoughtfully, and put them in his pocket.

“You know what these are?” he asked Sal, eyeing her keenly.

“I could hardly help knowing,” she answered; “it proves that Rosanna Moore was Mr. Frettlby’s wife, and—­” she hesitated.

“Go on,” said Brian, in a harsh tone, looking up.

“And they were the papers she gave Mr. Whyte.”

“Well!”

Sal was silent for a moment, and then looked up with a flush.