'I see. Well…' I regarded the young woman. As much as I appreciated the information, it carried me no closer to the solution of the mystery which so exercised my mind.

A frown of concentration appeared on Miss Gillespie's face. 'There was one more thing.'

'Yes?' I leaned forward, eager to pounce on the smallest scrap of information.

'I had quite forgotten until just now,' she said slowly, as if trying to remember precisely. 'Just before he faded away completely, he looked at me and said-if I recall it correctly-something like: "The pain is swallowed in peace, and grief in glory."'

The message was obscure. It made no sense to me, and of all the things he might have wished to say, I could not think this had any importance whatsoever. 'Forgive me, Miss Gillespie, but you're certain that is what he said?'

She shook her head vehemently. 'No, Mister Murray, I'm not at all sure. It was very faint and by then he had mostly vanished. Nevertheless, that's what it sounded like to me.' She regarded me with a hopeful expression. 'Does it mean anything to you?'

'I fear not,' I sighed. 'But perhaps something will yet come of it.' We finished our tea then, and made our farewells. 'I thank you, my dear, for taking the time to speak to an old busybody,' I said as we parted. 'Please, give my kind regards to your parents.'

The rain had stopped and so I walked with her to the comer, whereupon we went our separate ways. As the day had come clear and bright, and I had nothing pressing for my attention, I decided to take a turn or two around the park. I walked to the little square just down the street, and entered by the iron gate. A few children had come out to play; their voices jiggled as they skipped and ran to the accompaniment of a barking terrier. A young mother pushed her baby in a large black pram, stopping every now and then to tuck up the blankets, all the while doting on the face of her infant.