her part, paid them no attention; they were at her back, in an alcove, formed by the bay of the window, in which stood a bureau, whose drawers they were ransacking. Her eyes saw one thing, and one thing only—something which lay under a sheet upon the bed.
"What's that?" she asked herself. "What's under the sheet?"
She went towards the bed doubtfully, as if uncertain as to the direction which her adventure might be taking. We watched her, silent. The officials, I take it, were for the moment too much taken aback by her appearance to know what to make of her. While for me, that was one of the occasions in my life on which I lost my presence of mind. If I had known what to do I could not have done it; my nerves were all in a flutter, like so many loose strings. She went close up to the bed; then stood still, looking down at the something whose shape she saw outlined.
"What is it under the sheet?"
She lifted up a corner, then let it fall. "It's the man I saw lying dead." I saw her tremble. A new look came on her face—half curiosity, half awe. "I wonder if I should know him if I saw him now? If it would all come back to me? I wonder if it would?"
She turned down the sheet so as to expose the dead man's head and face. She stared at him
