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"Aye! that's a fact," Firth conceded. "Phew! I need a breath o' fresh air. I don't know how you feel." He crossed and was about to open the front door when he paused, put his hand in the pocket of his tweed jacket and drew out the key. He stared at it in the dim light, keenly. "Aye. It's still damp," he muttered.

He opened the door, so that again a draught of fresh, sweet air swept in. And almost immediately, he found himself engaged once more.

"Huish! awa' wi' ye!"

A number of cats, their fur diamond-tipped with rain, had entered at the moment that he opened the door. He shepherded them out and closed it.

"The behavior of the cats," said Dr. Fawcett, in an uneasy way, "is another phenomenon for which I find myself quite unable to account."

"Speaking pairsonally," Firth confessed, "nothing has occurred here to-night for which mysel' I am able to account. And so let's get down to routine business. I greatly regret, doctor, the necessity of detaining you longer. But I wish to interview Mrs. Vane, if it is possible, and only yoursel' can tell me if it is possible." Dr. Fawcett sighed wearily. "Regarding the dead man, nae doubt ye will be prepared to make out your report?"