Had I demanded the casket? Had I threatened
Sir Philip that he would repent? And of what?
His refusal?

I felt myself grow pale as I answered, "Yes,
I thought such or similar expressions had occurred
in my conversation with the deceased."

"What was the reason of the grudge? What
was the nature of this casket, that I should so
desire its possession?"

There, I became terribly embarrassed. What
could I say to a keen, sensible, worldly man of
law? Tell him of the powder and the fume, of
the scene in the museum, of Sir Philip's tale, of
the implied identity of the youthful Margrave
with the aged Grayle, of the elixir of life, and of
magic arts? I—I tell such a romance! I,
the noted adversary of all pretended mysticism!
I—I—a sceptical practitioner of medicine! Had
that manuscript of Sir Philip's been available—
a substantial record of marvellous events by a
man of repute for intellect and learning—I
might, perhaps, have ventured to startle the
solicitor of L—— with my revelations. But the
sole proof that all which the solicitor urged me
to confide was not a monstrous fiction or an
insane delusion, had disappeared; and its
disappearance was a part of the terrible mystery
that enveloped the whole. I answered, therefore,
as composedly as I could, that "I could
have no serious grudge against Sir Philip,
whom I had never seen before that evening;
that the words, which applied to my
supposed grudge, were lightly said by Sir Philip
in reference to a physiological dispute on
matters connected with mesmerical phenomena;
that the deceased had declared his casket, which
he had shown me at the mayor's house, contained
drugs of great potency in medicine; that I had
asked permission to test those drugs myself; and
that when I said he would repent of his
refusal, I merely meant that he would repent of
his reliance on drugs not warranted by the
experiments of professional science.

My replies seemed to satisfy the lawyer so
far, but "How could I account for the casket
and the knife being found in my room?"

"In no way but this; the window of that
room was a door-window opening on the lane,
from which any one might enter it. I was in
the habit, not only of going out myself that way,
but of admitting through that door any more
familiar private acquaintance."

"Whom, for instance?"

I hesitated a moment, and then said, with a
significance I could not forbear, "Mr. Margrave!
He would know the locale perfectly; he would
know that the door was rarely bolted from
within during the daytime; he could enter at
all hours; he could place, or instruct any one
to deposit, the knife and casket in my bureau,
which he knew I never kept locked; it
contained no secrets, no private correspondence—-
chiefly surgical implements, or such things as I
might want for professional experiments."

"Mr. Margrave! But you cannot suspect
him—-a lively, charming young man, against
whose character not a whisper was ever heard—-
of connivance with such a charge against you;
a connivance that would implicate him in the
murder itself, for if you are accused wrongfully,
he who accuses you is either the criminal or the
criminal's accomplice; his instigator or his tool."

"Mr. Stanton," I said firmly, after a
moment's pause, "I do suspect Mr. Margrave
of a hand in this crime. Sir Philip, on seeing
him at the mayor's house, expressed a strong
abhorrence of him, more than hinted at crimes he
had committed; appointed me to come to Derval
Court the day after that on which the murder
was committed. Sir Philip had known
something of this Margrave in the East—-Margrave
might dread exposure, revelations—-of what I
know not; but, strange as it may seem to you,
it is my conviction that this young man,
apparently so gay and so thoughtless, is the real
criminal, and in some way, which I cannot conjecture,
has employed this lying vagabond in the
fabrication of a charge against myself. Reflect: of
Mr. Margrave's antecedents we know nothing;
of them nothing was known even by the young
gentleman who first introduced him to the
society of this town. If you would serve and
save me, it is to that quarter that you will
direct your vigilant and unrelaxing researches."

I had scarcely so said when I repented my
candour; for I observed in the face of Mr.
Stanton a sudden revulsion of feeling, an utter
incredulity of the accusation I had thus hazarded,
and for the first time a doubt of my own
innocence. The fascination exercised by Margrave
was universal; nor was it to be wondered at:
for, besides the charm of his joyous presence, he
seemed so singularly free from even the errors
common enough with the young. So gay and
boon a companion, yet a shunner of wine; so
dazzling in aspect, so more than beautiful, so
courted, so idolised by women, yet no tale
of seduction, of profligacy, attached to his
name! As to his antecedents, he had so frankly
owned himself a natural son, a nobody, a
traveller, an idler; his expenses, though lavish,
were so unostentatious, so regularly defrayed.
He was so wholly the reverse of the character
assigned to criminals, that it seemed as absurd
to bring a charge of homicide against a butterfly
or a goldfinch as against this seemingly innocent
and delightful favourite of humanity and
nature.

However, Mr. Stanton said little or nothing,
and shortly afterwards left me, with a dry
expression of hope that my innocence would be
cleared in spite of evidence that, he was bound
to say, was of the most serious character.

I was exhausted. I fell into a profound
sleep early that night; it might be a little after
twelve when I woke, and woke as fully, as
completely, as much restored to life and consciousness,
as it was then my habit to be at the break
of day. And, so waking, I saw, on the wall
opposite my bed, the same luminous phantom I
had seen in the wizard's study at Derval Court.
I have read in Scandinavian legends of an
apparition called the Scin-Læca, or shining corpse.
It is supposed, in the northern superstition,