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Elinor smiled absently, and then burst out fervently, "Isn't it all gloriously workmanlike—the bare walls and smudged doors and the painty smell, too? It's so serious. Outside, the people regard a picture as a mere luxury, but in here, here," she said, exultantly, "it is absolutely the necessary thing in life.", Lastly Etwald. It is difficult to describe the indescribable. He was austere in face, like Dante, with hollow cheeks, and a pallid hue which told of midnight studies. If he had passions, they could not be discerned in his features. Eye and mouth and general expression were like a mask. What actually lay behind that mask no one ever knew, for it was never off. His slightly hollow chest, his lean and nervous hands, and a shock of rather long, curling hair, tossed from a high forehead, gave Etwald the air of a student. But there was something sinister and menacing in his regard. He looked dangerous and more than a trifle uncanny. Physically, mentally, morally he was an enigma to the bovine inhabitants of Deanminster and Hurstleigh., "Why not?" answered the major, quietly. "To my mind, he needs more pity than poor Maurice. The lad was driven mad by jealousy, and he was worked on by Dido to commit the crime. The cause of all these troubles, Mr. Inspector, is not Dr. Etwald, but that black witch. I wish she could be caught.".