The Darrow Enigma

"My dear Miss Darrow," I interrupted, "there is no wound, you may be sure of that!" For the first time since Darrow's death Maitland spoke. "If you will look at the throat a little more closely, you will see what may be a wound," he said, and went on quietly with his examinations. He was right; there was a minute abrasion visible. The girl's quick observation had detected what had escaped me, convinced as I was that there was nothing to be found by a scrutiny however close.

Gwen now transferred her attention to Maitland, and asked: "Had not one of us better go for an officer?" Maitland, whose power of concentration is so remarkable as on some occasions to render him utterly oblivious of his surroundings, did not notice the question and Browne replied to it for him. "I should be only too happy to fetch an officer for you, if you wish," he said. Have you ever noticed how acute the mind is for trifles and slight incongruities when under the severe tension of such a shock as we had experienced? Such attacks, threatening to invade and forever subjugate our happiness, seem to have the effect of so completely manning the ramparts of our intellect the nothing, however trivial, escapes observation. Gwen's father, her only near relative, lay cold before her,--his death, from her standpoint, the most painful of mysteries, --and yet the incongruity of Browne's "only too happy " did not escape her, as was evident by the quick glance and sudden relaxation of the mouth into the faintest semblance of a smile. All this was momentary and, I doubt not, half unconscious. She replied gravely: "I would indeed be obliged if you would do so."

Maitland, who had now finished his examination, noticed that Browne was about to depart. When the artist would have passed him on his way to the hall door, he placed his hand upon that gentleman's shoulder, saying: "Pardon me, sir, but I would strongly urge that you do not leave the room!"

Browne paused. Both men stood like excited animals at gaze.