One sequel of the tragedy, which adds immeasurably to the mystery of it all, has occurred, and I alone am responsible for its discovery.
But to go back: I returned from mailing your letter at dawn this morning, very tired from the tension of the night.

I went to bed, but could not sleep.
More and more it was preying on my mind that I was in a most unhappy position.

I had not liked the looks cast at me by Inspector Bray, or his voice when he asked how I came to live in this house.

I told myself I should not be safe until the real murderer of the poor captain was found; and so I began to puzzle over the few clues in the case--especially over the asters, the scarab pin and the Homburg hat.
It was then I remembered the four copies of the Daily Mail that Bray had casually thrown into the waste-basket as of no interest.

I had glanced over his shoulder as he examined these papers, and had seen that each of them was folded so that our favorite department--the Agony Column--was uppermost.