rider, he turned out at every meet, and took the most amazing
falls in his determination to hold his own with the best. When
the vicarage caught fire he distinguished himself also by the
fearlessness with which he reentered the building to save property,
after the local fire brigade had given it up as impossible.
Thus it came about that John Douglas of the Manor House had
within five years won himself quite a reputation in Birlstone.

His wife, too, was popular with those who had made her
acquaintance; though, after the English fashion, the callers upon
a stranger who settled in the county without introductions were
few and far between. This mattered the less to her, as she was
retiring by disposition, and very much absorbed, to all appearance,
in her husband and her domestic duties. It was known that
she was an English lady who had met Mr. Douglas in London,
he being at that time a widower. She was a beautiful woman,
tall, dark, and slender, some twenty years younger than her
husband, a disparity which seemed in no wise to mar the
contentment of their family life.

It was remarked sometimes, however, by those who knew
them best, that the confidence between the two did not appear to
be complete, since the wife was either very reticent about her
husband's past life, or else, as seemed more likely, was imperfectly
informed about it. It had also been noted and commented upon by a
few observant people that there were signs sometimes of some
nerve-strain upon the part of Mrs. Douglas, and that she would
display acute uneasiness if her absent husband should ever be
particularly late in his return. On a quiet countryside, where
all gossip is welcome, this weakness of the lady of the Manor
House did not pass without remark, and it bulked larger upon
people's memory when the events arose which gave it a very
special significance.

There was yet another individual whose residence under that
roof was, it is true, only an intermittent one, but whose presence
at the time of the strange happenings which will now be narrated
brought his name prominently before the public. This was Cecil
James Barker, of Hales Lodge, Hampstead.

Cecil Barker's tall, loose-jointed figure was a familiar one in
the main street of Birlstone village; for he was a frequent and
welcome visitor at the Manor House. He was the more noticed as
being the only friend of the past unknown life of Mr. Douglas
who was ever seen in his new English surroundings. Barker was
himself an undoubted Englishman; but by his remarks it was
clear that he had first known Douglas in America and had there
lived on intimate terms with him. He appeared to be a man of
considerable wealth, and was reputed to be a bachelor.

In age he was rather younger than Douglas -- forty-five at the
most -- a tall, straight, broad-chested fellow with a clean-shaved,
prize-fighter face, thick, strong, black eyebrows, and a pair of
masterful black eyes which might, even without the aid of his
very capable hands, clear a way for him through a hostile crowd.
He neither rode nor shot, but spent his days in wandering round
the old village with his pipe in his mouth, or in driving with his
host, or in his absence with his hostess, over the beautiful
countryside. "An easy-going, free-handed gentleman," said Ames,
the butler. "But, my word! I had rather not be the man that
crossed him!" He was cordial and intimate with Douglas, and he
was no less friendly with his wife -- a friendship which more than
once seemed to cause some irritation to the husband, so that even
the servants were able to perceive his annoyance. Such was the
third person who was one of the family when the catastrophe
occurred.

As to the other denizens of the old building, it will suffice out
of a large household to mention the prim, respectable, and
capable Ames, and Mrs. Allen, a buxom and cheerful person,
who relieved the lady of some of her household cares. The other
six servants in the house bear no relation to the events of the
night of January 6th.

It was at eleven forty-five that the first alarm reached the small
local police station, in charge of Sergeant Wilson of the Sussex
Constabulary. Cecil Barker, much excited, had rushed up to the
door and pealed furiously upon the bell. A terrible tragedy had
occurred at the Manor House, and John Douglas had been murdered.
That was the breathless burden of his message. He had hurried back
to the house, followed within a few minutes by the police sergeant,
who arrived at the scene of the crime a little after twelve o'clock,
after taking prompt steps to warn the county authorities that
something serious was afoot.

On reaching the Manor House, the sergeant had found the
drawbridge down, the windows lighted up, and the whole household
in a state of wild confusion and alarm. The white-faced servants
were huddling together in the hall, with the frightened butler
wringing his hands in the doorway. Only Cecil Barker seemed to
be master of himself and his emotions; he had opened the door
which was nearest to the entrance and he had beckoned to the
sergeant to follow him. At that moment there arrived Dr. Wood,
a brisk and capable general practitioner from the village. The
three men entered the fatal room together, while the horror-
stricken butler followed at their heels, closing the door behind
him to shut out the terrible scene from the maid servants.

The dead man lay on his back, sprawling with outstretched
limbs in the centre of the room. He was clad only in a pink