"The figure," he said in a hushed voice, "was the figure of Mr. Eustace Charliewood, who shot himself at Brighton some little time ago."
She cried out aloud, "Yes! But how did you know?"
"He came to me also, last night. He came to me out of the other world, which is all round us, but which we cannot see. He was trying to tell me something about Guy Rathbone."
Marjorie Poole began to sob quietly.
"I knew it," she answered. "Mr. Charliewood in another state sees more than we see, he knows where Guy is. Oh, my love, my love!"
Megbie went up to her. He had some sal-volatile in his dressing-case, and he made her take it.
"Be brave," he said; "you have more to tell me yet, as I have more to tell you. Guy is alive, we are certain of that. But he is in some one's power. The spirit of this man, Eustace Charliewood, knows where he is. He is trying to tell us. He is trying to make amends for something. He must have had something to do with Guy's disappearance."
"Mr. Charliewood," Marjorie said in a whisper, "was William Gouldesbrough's intimate friend. He was always about the house. When Guy Rathbone disappeared, Eustace Charliewood killed himself. William was at Brighton at the time. He was trying to help me and my mother to find Guy."
"Go on with your story, if you can," Megbie said. "One more effort!"
"I knew that the figure was trying to tell me about Guy. Something told me that with absolute certainty. But it couldn't tell me. It began to weep and wring its hands. Oh, it was pitiful! Then suddenly, it seemed to realize that it was no use. It stood upright and rigid, and fixed its eyes upon me. Mr. Megbie, such mournful eyes, eyes so full of sorrow and terrible remorse, were never in a human face. As those eyes stared down at me, a deep drowsiness began to creep over me. Sleep came flooding over me with a force and power such as I had never known before. It was impossible to withstand it. People who have taken some drug must feel like that. Just as I was, in the chair in front of the dressing-table, I sank into sleep."