But you don't look very well, Salisbury. Nothing disagreed with you,
has it?' 'No; but I have been a good deal bothered for the last few days. The
fact is I had an odd kind of--of--adventure, I suppose I may call it,
that night I saw you, and it has worried me a good deal. And the
provoking part of it is that it's the merest nonsense--but, however, I
will tell you all about it, by and by. You were going to let me have the
rest of that odd story you began at the restaurant.' 'Yes. But I am afraid, Salisbury, you are incorrigible. You are a slave
to what you call matter of fact. You know perfectly well that in your
heart you think the oddness in that case is of my making, and that it is
all really as plain as the police reports. However, as I have begun, I
will go on. But first we will have something to drink, and you may as
well light your pipe.' Dyson went up to the oak cupboard, and drew from its depths a rotund
bottle and two little glasses, quaintly gilded. 'It's Benedictine,' he said. 'You'll have some, won't you?' Salisbury assented, and the two men sat sipping and smoking reflectively
for some minutes before Dyson began. 'Let me see,' he said at last, 'we were at the inquest, weren't we? No,
we had done with that. Ah, I remember. I was telling you that on the
whole I had been successful in my inquiries, investigation, or whatever
you like to call it, into the matter. Wasn't that where I left off?' 'Yes, that was it. To be precise, I think "though" was the last word you
said on the matter.' 'Exactly. I have been thinking it all over since the other night, and I
have come to the conclusion that that "though" is a very big "though"
indeed. Not to put too fine a point on it, I have had to confess that
what I found out, or thought I found out, amounts in reality to nothing. I am as far away from the heart of the case as ever. However, I may as
well tell you what I do know. You may remember my saying that I was
impressed a good deal by some remarks of one of the doctors who gave
evidence at the inquest. Well, I determined that my first step must be
to try if I could get something more definite and intelligible out of
that doctor. Somehow or other I managed to get an introduction to the
man, and he gave me an appointment to come and see him. He turned out to
be a pleasant, genial fellow; rather young and not in the least like the
typical medical man, and he began the conference by offering me whisky
and cigars. I didn't think it worth while to beat about the bush, so I
began by saying that part of his evidence at the Harlesden Inquest
struck me as very peculiar, and I gave him the printed report, with the
sentences in question underlined. He just glanced at the slip, and gave
me a queer look. "It struck you as peculiar, did it?" said he. "Well,
you must remember that the Harlesden case was very peculiar. In fact, I
think I may safely say that in some features it was unique--quite
unique." "Quite so," I replied, "and that's exactly why it interests me,
and why I want to know more about it. And I thought that if anybody
could give me any information it would be you. What is your opinion of
the matter?" 'It was a pretty downright sort of question, and my doctor looked rather
taken aback. '"Well," he said, "as I fancy your motive in inquiring into the question
must be mere curiosity, I think I may tell you my opinion with tolerable
freedom. So, Mr., Mr. Dyson? if you want to know my theory, it is this:
I believe that Dr. Black killed his wife." '"But the verdict," I answered, "the verdict was given from your own
evidence." '"Quite so; the verdict was given in accordance with the evidence of my
colleague and myself, and, under the circumstances, I think the jury
acted very sensibly. In fact, I don't see what else they could have
done. But I stick to my opinion, mind you, and I say this also. I don't
wonder at Black's doing what I firmly believe he did. I think he was
justified." '"Justified! How could that be?" I asked. I was astonished, as you may
imagine, at the answer I had got. The doctor wheeled round his chair and
looked steadily at me for a moment before he answered. '"I suppose you are not a man of science yourself? No; then it would be
of no use my going into detail. I have always been firmly opposed myself
to any partnership between physiology and psychology. I believe that
both are bound to suffer. No one recognizes more decidedly than I do the
impassable gulf, the fathomless abyss that separates the world of
consciousness from the sphere of matter. We know that every change of
consciousness is accompanied by a rearrangement of the molecules in the
grey matter; and that is all. What the link between them is, or why
they occur together, we do not know, and most authorities believe that
we never can know. Yet, I will tell you that as I did my work, the knife
in my hand, I felt convinced, in spite of all theories, that what lay
before me was not the brain of a dead woman--not the brain of a human
being at all. Of course I saw the face; but it was quite placid, devoid
of all expression. It must have been a beautiful face, no doubt, but I
can honestly say that I would not have looked in that face when there
was life behind it for a thousand guineas, no, nor for twice that sum." '"My dear sir," I said, "you surprise me extremely. You say that it was
not the brain of a human being. What was it then?" '"The brain of a devil." He spoke quite coolly, and never moved a
muscle. "The brain of a devil," he repeated, "and I have no doubt that
Black found some way of putting an end to it. I don't blame him if he
did. Whatever Mrs. Black was, she was not fit to stay in this world. Will you have anything more? No? Good-night, good-night." 'It was a queer sort of opinion to get from a man of science, wasn't it? When he was saying that he would not have looked on that face when alive
for a thousand guineas, or two thousand guineas, I was thinking of the
face I had seen, but I said nothing. I went again to Harlesden, and
passed from one shop to another, making small purchases, and trying to
find out whether there was anything about the Blacks which was not
already common property, but there was very little to hear. One of the
tradesmen to whom I spoke said he had known the dead woman well; she
used to buy of him such quantities of grocery as were required for
their small household, for they never kept a servant, but had a
charwoman in occasionally, and she had not seen Mrs. Black for months
before she died. According to this man Mrs. Black was "a nice lady,"
always kind and considerate, and so fond of her husband and he of her,
as every one thought. And yet, to put the doctor's opinion on one side,
I knew what I had seen. And then after thinking it all over, and putting
one thing with another, it seemed to me that the only person likely to
give me much assistance would be Black himself, and I made up my mind to
find him.