BY that night's post--although I was far from being fit to makethe exertion--I wrote to Mr. Playmore, to tell him what had takenplace, and to beg for his earliest assistance and advice.

The notes in Benjamin's book were partly written in shorthand,and were, on that account, of no use to me in their existingcondition. At my request, he made two fair copies. One of thecopies I inclosed in my letter to Mr. Playmore. The other I laidby me, on my bedside table, when I went to rest.

Over and over again, through the long hours of the wakeful night,I read and re-read the last words which had dropped fromMiserrimus Dexter's lips. Was it possible to interpret them toany useful purpose? At the very outset they seemed to setinterpretation at defiance. After trying vainly to solve thehopeless problem, I did at last what I might as well have done atfirst--I threw down the paper in despair. Where were my brightvisions of discovery and success now? Scattered to the winds! Wasthere the faintest chance of the stricken man's return to reason?I remembered too well what I had seen to hope for it. The closinglines of the medical report which I had read in Mr. Playmore'soffice recurred to my memory in the stillness of the night--"Whenthe catastrophe has happened, his friends can entertain no hopeof his cure: the balance once lost, will be lost for life."

The confirmation of that terrible sentence was not long inreaching me. On the next morning the gardener brought a notecontaining the information which the doctor had promised to giveme on the previous day.

Miserrimus Dexter and Ariel were still where Benjamin and I hadleft them together--in the long room. They were watched byskilled attendants, waiting the decision of Dexter's nearestrelative (a younger brother, who lived in the country, and whohad been communicated with by telegraph. It had been foundimpossible to part the faithful Ariel from her master withoutusing the bodily restraints adopted in cases of raging insanity.The doctor and the gardener (both unusually strong men) hadfailed to hold the poor creature when they first attempted toremove her on entering the room. Directly they permitted her toreturn to her master the frenzy vanished: she was perfectly quietand contented so long as they let her sit at his feet and look athim.

Sad as this was, the report of Miserrimus Dexter's condition wasmore melancholy still.

"My patient is in a state of absolute imbecility"--those were thewords in the doctor's letter; and the gardener's simple narrativeconfirmed them as the truest words that could have been used. Hewas utterly unconscious of poor Ariel's devotion to him--he didnot even appear to know that she was present in the room. Forhours together he remained in a state of utter lethargy in hischair. He showed an animal interest in his meals, and a greedyanimal enjoyment of eating and drinking as much as he couldget--and that was all. "This morning," the honest gardener saidto me at parting, "we thought he seemed to wake up a bit. Lookedabout him, you know, and made queer signs with his hands. Icouldn't make out what he meant; no more could the doctor. _She_knew, poor thing--She did. Went and got him his harp, and put hishand up to it. Lord bless you! no use. He couldn't play no morethan I can. Twanged at it anyhow, and grinned and gabbled tohimself. No: he'll never come right again. Any person can seethat, without the doctor to help 'em. Enjoys his meals, as I toldyou; and that's all. It would be the best thing that could happenif it would please God to take him. There's no more to be said. Iwish you good-morning, ma'am."

He went away with the tears in his eyes; and he left me, I ownit, with the tears in mine.

An hour later there came some news which revived me. I received atelegram from Mr. Playmore, expressed in these welcome words:"Obliged to go to London by to-night's mail train. Expect me tobreakfast to-morrow morning."

The appearance of the lawyer at our breakfast-table dulyfollowed the appearance of his telegram. His first words cheeredme. To my infinite surprise and relief, he was far from sharingthe despondent view which I took of my position.

"I don't deny," he said, "that there are some serious obstaclesin your way. But I should never have called here before attendingto my professional business in London if Mr. Benjamin's notes hadnot produced a very strong impression on my mind. For the firsttime, as _I_ think, you really have a prospect of success. Forthe first time, I feel justified in offering (under certainrestrictions) to help you. That miserable wretch, in the collapseof his intelligence, has done what he would never have done inthe possession of his sense and his cunning--he has let us seethe first precious glimmerings of the light of truth."

"Are you sure it _is_ the truth?" I asked.

"In two important particulars," he answered, "I know it to be thetruth. Your idea about him is the right one. His memory (as yousuppose) was the least injured of his faculties, and was the lastto give way under the strain of trying to tell that story. Ibelieve his memory to have been speaking to you (unconsciously tohimself) in all that he said from the moment when the firstreference to 'the letter' escaped him to the end."

"But what does the reference to the letter mean?" I asked. "Formy part, I am entirely in the dark about it."

"So am I," he answered, frankly. "The chief one among theobstacles which I mentioned just now is the obstacle presented bythat same 'letter.' The late Mrs. Eustace must have beenconnected with it in some way, or Dexter would never have spokenof it as 'a dagger in his heart'; Dexter would never have coupledher name with the words which describe the tearing up of theletter and the throwing of it away. I can arrive with somecertainty at this result, and I can get no further. I have nomore idea than you have of who wrote the letter, or of what waswritten in it. If we are ever to make that discovery--probablythe most important discovery of all--we must dispatch our firstinquiries a distance of three thousand miles. In plain English,my dear lady, we must send to America."

This, naturally enough, took me completely by surprise. I waitedeagerly to hear why we were to send to America.

"It rests with you," he proceeded, "when you hear what I have totell you, to say whether you will go to the expense of sending aman to New York, or not. I can find the right man for thepurpose; and I estimate the expense (including a telegram)--"

"Never mind the expense!" I interposed, losing all patience withthe eminently Scotch view of the case which put my purse in thefirst place of importance. "I don't care for the expense; I wantto know what you have discovered."

He smiled. "She doesn't care for the expense," he said tohimself, pleasantly. "How like a woman!"

I might have retorted, "He thinks of the expense before he thinksof anything else. How like a Scotchman!" As it was, I was tooanxious to be witty. I only drummed impatiently with my fingerson the table, and said, "Tell me! tell me!"

He took out the fair copy from Benjamin's note-book which I hadsent to him, and showed me these among Dexter's closing words:"What about the letter? Burn it now. No fire in the grate. Nomatches in the box. House topsy-turvy. Servants all gone."

"Do you really understand what those words mean?" I asked.

"I look back into my own experience," he answered, "and Iunderstand perfectly what the words mean."

"And can you make me understand them too?"

"Easily. In those incomprehensible sentences Dexter's memory hascorrectly recalled certain facts. I have only to tell you thefacts, and you will be as wise as I am. At the time of the Trial,your husband surprised and distressed me by insisting on theinstant dismissal of all the household servants at Gleninch. Iwas instructed to pay them a quarter's wages in advance, to givethem the excellent written characters which their good conductthoroughly deserved, and to see the house clear of them at anhour's notice. Eustace's motive for this summary proceeding wasmuch the same motive which animated his conduct toward you. 'If Iam ever to return to Gleninch,' he said, 'I cannot face my honestservants after the infamy of having stood my trial for murder.'There was his reason. Nothing that I could say to him, poorfellow, shook his resolution. I dismissed the servantsaccordingly. At an hour's notice, they quitted the house, leavingtheir work for the day all undone. The only persons placed incharge of Gleninch were persons who lived on the outskirts of thepark--that is to say, the lodge-keeper and his wife and daughter.On the last day of the Trial I instructed the daughter to do herbest to make the rooms tidy. She was a good girl enough, but shehad no experience as a housemaid: it would never enter her headto lay the bedroom fires ready for lighting, or to replenish theempty match-boxes. Those chance words that dropped from Dexterwould, no doubt, exactly describe the state of his room when hereturned to Gleninch, with the prisoner and his mother, fromEdinburgh. That he tore up the mysterious letter in his bedroom,and (finding no means immediately at hand for burning it) that hethrew the fragments into the empty grate, or into the waste-paperbasket, seems to be the most reasonable conclusion that we candraw from what we know. In any case, he would not have much timeto think about it. Everything was done in a hurry on that day.Eustace and his mother, accompanied by Dexter, left for Englandthe same evening by the night train. I myself locked up thehouse, and gave the keys to the lodge-keeper. It was understoodthat he was to look after the preservation of the reception-roomson the ground-floor; and that his wife and daughter were toperform the same service between them in the rooms upstairs. Onreceiving your letter, I drove at once to Gleninch to questionthe old woman on the subject of the bedrooms, and of Dexter'sroom especially. She remembered the time when the house was shutup by associating it with the time when she was confined to herbed by an attack of sciatica. She had not crossed the lodge door,she was sure, for at least a week (if not longer after Gleninchhad been left in charge of her husband and herself. Whatever wasdone in the way of keeping the bedrooms aired and tidy during herillness was done by her daughter. She, and she only, must havedisposed of any letter which might have been lying about inDexter's room. Not a vestige of torn paper, as I can myselfcertify, is to be discovered in any part of the room now. Wheredid the girl find the fragments of the letter? and what did shedo with them? Those are the questions (if you approve of it)which we must send three thousand miles away to ask--for thissufficient reason, that the lodge-keeper's daughter was marriedmore than a year since, and that she is settled with her husbandin business at New York. It rests with you to decide what is tobe done. Don't let me mislead you with false hopes! Don't let metempt you to throw away your money! Even if this woman doesremember what she did with the torn paper, the chances, at thisdistance of time, are enormously against our ever recovering asingle morsel of it. Be in no haste to decide. I have my work todo in the city--I can give you the whole day to think it over."

"Send the man to New York by the next steamer," I said. "There ismy decision, Mr. Playmore, without keeping you waiting for it!"

He shook his head, in grave disapproval of my impetuosity. In myformer interview with him we had never once touched on thequestion of money. I was now, for the first time, to makeacquaintance with Mr. Playmore on the purely Scotch side of hischaracter.

"Why, you don't even know what it will cost you!" he exclaimed,taking out his pocket-book with the air of a man who was equallystartled and scandalized. "Wait till I tot it up," he said, "inEnglish and American money."

"I can't wait! I want to make more discoveries!"

He took no notice of my interruption; he went on impenetrablywith his calculations.

"The man will go second-class, and will take a return-ticket.Very well. His ticket includes his food; and (being, thank God, ateetotaler) he won't waste your money in buying liquor on board.Arrived at New York, he will go to a cheap German house, where hewill, as I am credibly informed, be boarded and lodged at therate--"

By this time (my patience being completely worn out) I had takenmy check-book from the table-drawer, had signed my name, and hadhanded the blank check across the table to my legal adviser.

"Fill it in with whatever the man wants," I said. "And forHeaven's sake let us get back to Dexter!"

Mr. Playmore fell back in his chair, and lifted his hands andeyes to the ceiling. I was not in the least impressed by thatsolemn appeal to the unseen powers of arithmetic and money. Iinsisted positively on being fed with more information.

"Listen to this," I went on, reading from Benjamin's notes. "Whatdid Dexter mean when he said, 'Number Nine, Caldershaws. Ask forDandie. You shan't have the Diary. A secret in your ear. TheDiary will hang him?' How came Dexter to know what was in myhusband's Diary? And what does he mean by 'Number Nine,Caldershaws,' and the rest of it? Facts again?"

"Facts again!" Mr. Playmore answered, "muddled up together, asyou may say--but positive facts for all that. Caldershaws, youmust know, is one of the most disreputable districts inEdinburgh. One of my clerks (whom I am in the habit of employingconfidentially) volunteered to inquire for 'Dandie' at 'NumberNine.' It was a ticklish business in every way; and my man wiselytook a person with him who was known in the neighborhood. 'NumberNine' turned out to be (ostensibly) a shop for the sale of ragsand old iron; and 'Dandie' was suspected of trading now and then,additionally, as a receiver of stolen goods. Thanks to theinfluence of his companion, backed by a bank-note (which can berepaid, by the way, out of the fund for the American expenses),my clerk succeeded is making the fellow speak. Not to trouble youwith needless details, the result in substance was this: Afortnight or more before the date of Mrs. Eustace's death,'Dandie' made two keys from wax models supplied to him by a newcustomer. The mystery observed in the matter by the agent whomanaged it excited Dandie's distrust. He had the man privatelywatched before he delivered the keys; and he ended in discoveringthat his customer was--Miserrimus Dexter. Wait a little! I havenot done yet. Add to this information Dexter's incomprehensibleknowledge of the contents of your husband's diary, and theproduct is--that the wax models sent to the old-iron shop inCaldershaws were models taken by theft from the key of the Diaryand the key of the table-drawer in which it was kept. I have myown idea of the revelations that are still to come if this matteris properly followed up. Never mind going into that at present.Dexter (I tell you again) is answerable for the late Mrs.Eustace's death. _How_ he is answerable I believe you are in afair way of finding out. And, more than that, I say now, what Icould not venture to say before--it is a duty toward Justice, aswell as a duty toward your husband, to bring the truth to light.As for the difficulties to be encountered, I don't think theyneed daunt you. The greatest difficulties give way in the end,when they are attacked by the united alliance of patienceresolution--_and_ economy."

With a strong emphasis on the last words, my worthy adviser,mindful of the flight of time and the claims of business, rose totake his leave.

"One word more," I said, as he held out his hand. "Can you manageto s ee Miserrimus Dexter before you go back to Edinburgh? Fromwhat the gardener told me, his brother must be with him by thistime. It would be a relief to me to hear the latest news of him,and to hear it from you."

"It is part of my business in London to see him," said Mr.Playmore. "But mind! I have no hope of his recovery; I only wishto satisfy myself that his brother is able and willing to takecare of him. So far as _we_ are concerned, Mrs. Eustace, thatunhappy man has said his last words."

He opened the door--stopped--considered--and come back to me.

"With regard to that matter of sending the agent to America," heresumed--"I propose to have the honor of submitting to you abrief abstract--"

"Oh, Mr. Playmore!"

"A brief abstract in writing, Mrs. Eustace, of the estimatedexpenses of the whole proceeding. You will be good enoughmaturely to consider the same, making any remarks on it, tendingto economy, which may suggest themselves to your mind at thetime. And you will further oblige me, if you approve of theabstract, by yourself filling in the blank space on your checkwith the needful amount in words and figures. No, madam! I reallycannot justify it to my conscience to carry about my person anysuch loose and reckless document as a blank check. There's atotal disregard of the first claims of prudence and economyimplied in this small slip of paper which is nothing less than aflat contradiction of the principles that have governed my wholelife. I can't submit to flat contradiction. Good-morning, Mrs.Eustace--good-morning."

He laid my check on the table with a low bow, and left me. Amongthe curious developments of human stupidity which occasionallypresent themselves to view, surely the least excusable is thestupidity which, to this day, persists in wondering why theScotch succeed so well in life!