the back portion of Arthur's sanctum. It was fitted up as a bedroom. There was a large brass bedstead, a wash-stand, closets for clothes. So, when my husband did not spend the night out—and I had imagined he always did so—this was where he slept. It was rather a curious notion—but I had come to the conclusion that Arthur was rather a curious man. I wondered why he had objected to my visiting his sanctum. Surely he must have been aware that I would have preferred knowing he was in the house than supposing him out of it. Then a number of odious ideas came rushing into my head to bewilder me with the hideous probability that they were facts.
Could I discover no evidence against him without the aid of detectives? I went into the first half of the room, and tried the oak desk. The keys were in it—thank goodness! My lord had evidently grown careless, in the belief that he had an obedient little fool of a wife who would never dare to disobey his slightest behest. Ah! he made a mistake. I remembered my wedding day, and my mild, dutiful pleading to be allowed to inspect my husband's rooms. "They are in
