"What are you doing here?" I cried.
I addressed the inquiry apparently to the vacant air. The moonlight flooded the little cabin. It showed clearly enough that it was empty. My wife sat up in bed.
"Now," she observed, "you've done it."
"Done what? Who was that speaking?"
"The voices."
"The voices! What voices? I'll voice them! Where the dickens have they gone?"
I moved towards the cabin door, with the intention of pursuing my inquiries further. Violet's voice arrested me.
"It is no use your going to look for them. They will not be found by searching. The speakers were Mr. and Mrs. Bush."
"Mr. and Mrs. Bush?"
Violet's voice dropped to an awful whisper. "The murderer and his victim."
I stared at her in the moonlight. Inglis's pleasant little story had momentarily escaped my memory. Suddenly roused from a dreamless slumber, I had not yet had time to recall such trivialities. Now it all came back in a flash.
"Violet," I exclaimed, "have you gone mad?"
"They are the voices which I heard last night. They are the voices which Mason heard. Now you have heard them. If you had kept still the mystery might have been unravelled. The crime might have been re-acted before our eyes, or at least within sound of our ears."
I sat down upon the ingenious piece of furniture which did duty as a bed. I seemed to have struck
