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know that when they welcomed me here.”
    She ceased, and smiled vaguely at Trent, who was considering her tale with eyes that gazed fixedly at the sky-line. “Yes, of course,” he remarked, presently, in an abstracted manner. “That was it. So simple! And now may I tell you,” he went on, with a sudden change of tone, “one or two details you have forgotten?
    “At Brindisi you bought, just before going on the boat, a box of the stuff called Ixtil, to prevent sea-sickness. You took a dose before going on board and another just after, as the directions prescribed. Then, as Mr. Selby happened to know you had it, you thought it best to leave it behind when you vanished. Also you left behind you, in your hurry, four black hair-pins, quite new, which had somehow, I suppose, got loose inside your little bag, and which were found there by Selby. You see, Lady Aviemore, it was Selby who brought me into this. He told me all the facts he knew. And he showed me the velvet bag and its contents. But he did not attach any importance to the two things I have just mentioned.”
    Lady Aviemore raised her eyebrows perceptibly. “I cannot see why he should. And I cannot see why he should bring in anybody.”
    “Because he had some vague idea of your brother-in-law having caused your death, or, at any rate, having known your intention to commit suicide. He never said it outright, but it was plain that that was in his mind. You see, Lord Aviemore stood to benefit enormously by your death; and then there was the matter of your note announcing your suicide.”
    “It announced,” she remarked, “the truth: that I was leaving a world I could not bear. The words might mean one thing or another. But what of the note?”
    “That truthful note,” said Trent, “was written with pen and ink, of which there was none in your cabin. It was written on paper which had been torn from a block, and no block was found. Also it was discovered that that particular make of paper is sold in Canada, but has never been sold in Europe. You had never been in Canada. Lord Aviemore had just come back from Canada. You see?”
    “But did not Mr. Selby perceive that my brother-in-law is a saint?” inquired the lady, with a touch of impatience. “Surely that was plain! An evident saint!”
    “In my slight knowledge of him,” admitted Trent, “he struck me in that way. But Selby is a lawyer, and lawyers don’t understand saints. Besides, Lord Aviemore disliked him, I fancy, and perhaps he felt the same way about Lord Aviemore.”
    “It is true he did not approve of Mr. Selby, because he disliked all men who were smart and worldly. But now I will tell you. That evening in the hotel at Brindisi I wanted to write the note, and I asked my brother-in-law for a sheet from a block he had in his hand and was about to write upon. That is all. I wrote it in the hotel writing-room, and took it afterwards in my bag to the cabin.”
    “We supposed you had written it beforehand,” Trent observed, “and that was one of the things that led me to feel morally certain that you were still alive. I’ll explain. If, as we thought, you had written the note in the hotel, your suicide was a premeditated act. Yet Selby afterwards saw you buying that medicine, and it was plain that you had taken two doses. Now, it struck me that it was ridiculous for anyone already determined on drowning herself at sea to begin treating herself against sea-sickness. Then there were those new black hair-pins. The sight of them was a revelation to me. They meant disguise. For I knew, of course, that with that hair you had probably never used a dark hair-pin in your life.”
    The Countess felt at her pale-gold plaits, and gravely extended a black hair-pin. “In the valley we all use them.”
    “It is very different in the valley, I know,” he said, quietly.
    The lady regarded her guest with something of respect. “It still remains,” she said, “to explain how you knew it was in Norway, and