"Roger?" the Duchess exclaimed in utter astonishment.

"What?" the doctor cried. "What is it?"

"Be still! Not another sound!"

Carlton's body jerked convulsively. His head fell back against the high carved back of the chair.

"He is entranced," the Duchess exclaimed. "I never knew -"

From Carlton's lips came a voice that did not sound like his – a strained yet penetrating whisper.

"Murder… will out. After years… murder…"

Somewhere in the room someone's voice caught in a harsh gasp.

"Vengeance…" Carlton's voice droned. "Vengeance is mine…"

"What are you saying?" the Duchess whispered. "Who are you? David – David, is it you?"

A breath of icy air blasted the room, sending the heavy draperies billowing furiously. With a blasphemous oath the doctor leaped from his chair and sent the screen toppling over. The fire leaped up, fanned by the wind; and in its light Marianne saw a tall figure standing in the window. It might have been male or female; it wore a long, shrouding black garment, and its head was covered. With the snowflakes swirling madly around it, it resembled some elemental spirit, born of the darkness and the storm. It lifted one arm and swept off its hat. The light shone on a cap of silvery fair hair.

The doctor shrieked like a mortally wounded animal. "Damn you! Have you come from Hell to haunt me? How many times must I kill you?"

Arms extended, fingers crooked, he plunged in a headlong rush toward the figure in black. It stepped nimbly to one side as he came at it; still shrieking curses, the doctor rushed out into the storm and was gone.

The man in black closed the windows and put out an arm to stop Carlton, who had gone in pursuit.

"You will only endanger your own life, my friend, by following. You had better stay."

Calmly, like a well-trained servant, he moved along the wall lighting the lamps. In their swelling glow Marianne saw him clearly: a tall, thin man, no longer young; his hair was not fair, but completely white.

When he removed his cloak, tossing it carelessly toward the chair, she saw that he was wearing the collar and cassock of a Catholic priest.

Carlton pressed his hand to his head. "I could not find him in this storm," he muttered, looking at the window. "It is too late now."

"It was already too late for him, long before this," the stranger said. "You will find him in the morning. It will be soon enough. You know where he has gone."

"To the waterfall, you mean?" Carlton said dazedly. "He did not kill you, then?"

"He tried." The stranger brushed the clustering curls from his high white forehead. A livid scar twisted from hairline to temple. "He did me a service, though he intended harm. My doubts and questions ended. All was made clear to me. I had found my true vocation and I followed it."

Smiling, he looked down at something at his feet; and Marianne saw that Horace the lethargic had at last found an object worth moving for. The cat was rubbing his head against the black-clad ankles and purring loudly. Holmes bent to stroke him.

"I knew your grandfather," he said whimsically. Horace let out a hoarse meow as if in response. With a final caress, Holmes straightened. "Lady Annabelle, I hope all is well with you."

Annabelle nodded. "It is. But… but -"

"I know." Holmes nodded gravely. "I came only for that."

He crossed the room, moving with the grace Marianne had heard described. The Duchess sat upright in her chair, her eyes wide open, her hands resting on the arms of her chair. Her lips were curved in a faint smile.

Holmes passed his hand over her brow, closing her eyes. Then he knelt by her chair, crossed himself and bent his head.

Not until after the funeral was Marianne in a fit state to untangle the final riddles. There had been much to do, for Lady Annabelle had retired with her cats and refused to come out, and Lady Violet, though she tried to help, was too obsessed with the latest evidence of the Devenbrook curse to be very useful. To Marianne, with Carlton's full assent and cooperation, went the mournful task of dealing with the Duchess's personal possessions.

When she left the church with Carlton after the simple service, they turned in silent accord away from the ducal carriage and walked slowly along the road. It was a mild winter day; the sunlight was muted by mist; the air was still.

"I thought he would be here today," Marianne said, after a long silence.

"He returned to Rome yesterday. He had already said goodbye to her, you know."

"I am still bewildered," Marianne said. "That he should be alive after all…"

"Did you think he was a ghost when he made that theatrical appearance?" Carlton asked with a smile.

"No. No, strangely enough, I never thought that. He does not convey an aura of ghostly terror. But it was cruel of him to leave her to grieve all those years."

"The saints are often cruel," Carlton said quite seriously. "Having their minds on higher things, they care little for the transitory agonies of this life. But do the man justice, Marianne. He must have suffered greatly. And, with all respect to a good, kind woman…"

"I know. She would never have let him go."

"You don't blame her?"

"Oh, no! Nor can I truly grieve for her. She had what few people have – the attainment of her fondest wish." Marianne was silent, remembering that desperate and oddly prophetic prayer: "David's hand… guiding me over the threshold."

Then she said, with a sudden change of mood from melancholy to vindictive, "It is the doctor I cannot forgive. How could he? And how in heaven's name did you come to suspect the truth? That was what you meant, was it not – to accuse him, with your melodramatic groans about vengeance and murder?"

Carlton looked somewhat sheepish. "It was not a good performance," he admitted. "But I had to act fast, before Gruffstone could begin his playacting, and I counted on the atmosphere supplying any deficiencies in my talent. Yes, I suspected Gruffstone – not of murder, in the beginning, but of being responsible for the tricks at the seances. I should have seen it long before I did; for if you will think back over all that happened, Marianne, you will realize that he was the only one who could have engineered everything."

"Yes, I see it now. In London, when the thing began, there were only the four of us. For a time I suspected the Duchess of tricking herself."

"So did I. But during the last seance but one Gruffstone became overconfident. I was seated next to the Duchess and I knew she never left her chair. The doctor, on the other hand, made sure he sat at some distance from us."

"I had an advantage you did not," Marianne said slyly. "I knew I was innocent."

"You were certainly the most obvious suspect," Carlton said. Then, as if to keep her from asking the question that came next to mind, he hastened on with his explanation. "I could see how the doctor might have engineered the majority of the tricks; remember he actually boasted of having studied the devices those 'charlatans' used in their seances. Phosphorescent paint on gloves and other objects, a chemical that became visible only after heat was applied – the lamp under the 'mysterious' writing was one of the largest, if you recall, and he could count on your wishing to brighten that dismal room; even the bust of Holmes, which he took from its place as he was closing the draperies and flipped dexterously onto the table while I was staring suspiciously at you. That made his task all the easier, the fact that no one thought of watching him. But the biggest stumbling block was your astonishing trance state."

"I cannot recall that, even now."

"No wonder. You were mesmerized."

"What?" Marianne stared in disbelief.

"Or hypnotized, if you prefer that term; it was coined by Dr. Braid of Edinburgh, who experimented with the procedure in the early forties. You may thank Mr. MacGregor, who will be joining our establishment tomorrow, for giving me that vital clue. I was so desperate by that time that I tried to pump him about drugs or other substances that could cause a person to fall into a seeming trance. He mentioned Braid, and Charcot, and a lot of other fellows I had never heard of, and it was like a light in a dark room. I saw how it might have been done. I interrogated Gruffstone and, sure enough, he had studied in Edinburgh when Braid was there. The technique is considered questionable by most physicians, so he never used it openly, but I have no doubt that many of his patients benefited by his experiments along those lines."