That Edward Craig, after his mysterious death, should reappear as a shadow in the night was certainly most astounding. At first I tried to convince myself that only a strong resemblance existed, but his gait, his figure, his face, the manner in which he held his cane, and the slight angle at which he wore his hat—the angle affected by those elegant young men who in these days are termed "nuts"—were all the same.
Yes. It was Edward Craig and none other!
And yet, who was the man who so suddenly lost his life while masquerading in the clothes of old Gregory Vernon?
Aye, that was the question.
With strained eyes I watched and saw him change his position in order to obtain a better view of the interior of the room. There was no sign of Rayner, who, I supposed, had not risked following him, knowing that I was lurking close to the house.
That his intentions were evil ones I could not doubt, and yet the light shining upon his countenance revealed a strange, almost fascinated expression, as his eyes were fixed into the room, and upon her without a doubt.
The music had not ceased. Her quick fingers were still running over the keys, and in her sweet contralto she was singing the catching refrain—
"Mimi d'amour,
Petite fleur jolie,