"Yes, sir. If you wish to see her, please step inside."

We both entered the hall, the usual broad pa.s.sage of a suburban house, with its cheap hall-stand, couple of straight-backed wooden chairs, and a long chest in imitation carved oak. The girl disappeared for a few moments, and on returning ushered us into the dining-room, where we found a rather sour-looking old lady standing ready to greet us. She was about sixty, grey-haired, thin-faced, and wore a cap with faded cherry-coloured ribbons.

"Mrs Popejoy, I believe?" I exclaimed politely, receiving in return a bow, the stiffness of which was intended to show breeding. Then continuing, I said: "I have called on a rather urgent matter concerning your niece, Miss Aline Cloud; but the servant tells me she is not at home, and I thought you would perhaps tell me where I can find her without delay."

"My niece!" she exclaimed in surprise. "My poor niece died ten years ago."

"Ten years ago!" I gasped. "And is not Miss Cloud your niece?"

"I have no niece of that name, sir," she answered. "The name indeed is quite strange to me. There must be some mistake."

"But your name is Popejoy," I exclaimed, "and this is Number sixteen, Ellerdale Road?"

"Certainly."

"Truth to tell, madam," I said, "I have called on you in order to a.s.sure myself of a certain very extraordinary fact."

"What is it?"

"Well, late on a certain night some weeks ago I accompanied Miss Cloud, the lady I am now in search of, to this house. I sat in the cab while she got out, and with my own eyes saw her admitted by your maid. This strikes me as most extraordinary, in lace of your statement that you know nothing of her." The old lady reflected.

"What c.o.c.k-and-bull story did she tell you?" she inquired quickly.

"Explain it all to me, then perhaps I can help you."

There was something about Mrs Popejoy's manner that I did not like. I could have sworn that she was concealing the truth.

"Well," I said, "I met Miss Cloud at a theatre, and she told me that you and another lady had accompanied her; that you had got separated, and being a stranger in London she did not know her way home. Therefore I brought her back, and saw her enter here."

The old lady smiled cynically.

"My dear sir," she said, "you've been very neatly imposed upon. In the first place, I have no niece; secondly, I've never entered a theatre for years; thirdly, I've never heard of any girl named Cloud; and fourthly, she certainly does not live here."

"But with my own eyes I saw her enter your door," I said. "I surely can believe what I have seen!"

"It must have been another house," she answered. "There are several in this road similar in appearance to mine."

"No. Number sixteen," I said. "I looked it up previously in the Directory and saw your name. There can be no mistake."

"Well, sir," snapped the old lady, "I am mistress of this house, and surely I ought to know whether I have a niece or not! What kind of lady was she?"

"She was young, fair-haired, blue-eyed, and very good-looking. She had lived in France previously, at Montgeron, near Paris."

"Ah!" the old lady cried suddenly. "Why, of course, the hussy! Now I remember. It is quite plain that she duped you."

"Tell me," I exclaimed eagerly. "Where is she now?"

"How should I know? She wasn't my niece at all. A few weeks ago I advertised in the _Christian World_ for a companion, and engaged her.

She came one afternoon, and said that coming from France she had left all her luggage at Victoria. She was exceedingly pleasant, took tea with me, and afterwards at her request I allowed her to go down to Victoria to see about her boxes. That was about six o'clock, but she did not return until nearly two o'clock in the morning, and when I questioned her she said that she had been unable to find the office where her luggage had been placed, and had been wandering about, having lost her way. I didn't believe such a lame story, and the consequence was that she left after a week, and I haven't seen her since."

I stood dumbfounded.

"That's a strange story, sir," observed Ash, who was standing near.

"It's amazing!" I said. "And it complicates matters very considerably."

Turning to Mrs Popejoy, I inquired--

"When you corresponded with her, to what address did you write?"

"To a village post-office somewhere in the Midlands. It was a funny name, which I can't remember."

"Do you recollect the county?"

"No. I didn't put the county. The first letter I wrote was to initials at the office of the newspaper; and in reply I received a letter from Paris, with a request that further letters might be addressed to Miss-- what was her name?--Cloud, at this post-office."

"Then to you she gave her name as Cloud?" I said quickly.

"Yes. At first when you mentioned it I did not recollect. Now I remember."

"Then you have no idea where she is now!" I said.

"Not the slightest," the old lady snapped. "I was very glad to see the back of the hussy, for I believe she was no better than she should be, staying out till that hour of the morning. I told Ann to turn out the gas and go to bed, but it seems that she didn't, and waited up till that unearthly hour. And do you know what," continued old Mrs Popejoy in a confidential tone, "I believe that there was something very mysterious about her. I have a very shrewd suspicion that she meant to rob me, or do me some evil or other."

"Why?" I asked eagerly. "What mystery was there surrounding her?"

"Well," she responded after some little hesitation, "I was very glad indeed when she went off in a flounce, and I hope she'll never darken my door again. You may think me very timid, but if you had seen what I discovered after she had gone you'd have been of my way of thinking."

"What did you discover?" I asked, surprised.

"Well, in her bedroom there was, in a small silver box, an old ring that my late husband had prized very much. It had belonged to one of the Popes, and had been blessed by him. The relic was no doubt an extremely valuable one."

"And when she went?" I asked.

"When she went I had a look round her room to see that nothing had been taken, but to my surprise I found the ring and the box actually burnt up. Only the ashes remained! There was a picture of the Virgin also in the room, an old panel-painting which my husband had picked up in Holland, and what was most extraordinary was that although this picture had also been wholly consumed, the little easel had been left quite intact. Some Devil's work was effected there, but how, I can't imagine."

This was certainly a most startling statement, and the old lady was evidently still nervous regarding it. Did it not fully bear out what had already occurred in my own rooms and in those of the man whose life had so suddenly gone out?

"Do you think, then, that the picture was deliberately burned?" I inquired.

"I examined the ashes very closely," she replied, "and found that by whatever means the picture was destroyed, the table-cloth had not even been singed. Now, if the picture had been deliberately lighted, a hole must have been burned in the cloth; but as it was, it seemed as though the picture, which the Roman Catholics hold in such reverence, had been destroyed by something little short of a miracle."

"Have you preserved the ashes?"

"No," responded the old lady; "Ann threw them into the dustbin at once.

I didn't like to keep them about."

"And what is your private opinion?" I asked, now that we had grown confidential.

"I believe," she answered decisively, "I believe that the hussy must have been in league with the very Evil One himself."