This might give me a clue to the identity of the member of my household who required sealing-wax in the middle of the night.
Going to the window, the stronger light revealed a strange character, something of the shape of the letter B, but having a long excrescence in front.
In a moment I recognised it as one of the hieroglyphics of the mystic seal!
Nervousness is not one of my afflictions, yet I looked round that room involuntarily viewing the curtains with suspicion, as if half afraid I should witness something supernatural appear from behind them.
It was obvious that some one with the seal in his or her possession had come to my study in my absence during the dark hours of the night for the purpose of obtaining an impression in wax, and that the piece which had served as a clue had accidentally chipped off, alighting amongst the papers.
That some one in the house held the seal there could not be the slightest doubt, and my thoughts at once flew to the man whom Vera had clandestinely met—he whom I knew to be the murderer of Mrs Inglewood.
Who had he marked out as his next victim?
If he entertained affection for Vera, and she reciprocated it, what was more natural than that they should wish to rid themselves of me? I shuddered at the thought. My wife could surely never be an accessory to a murder—yet such things were not unknown, I told myself.
Yes; my surmise must be correct. My wife’s lover was only waiting for a favourable opportunity to strike the fatal blow.
He was not aware, however, that I had espied his presence, had recognised him; nor that by mere chance I had learned that an attempt was to be made upon my life.