 Try as they will, the men of science cannot quite strip death of the air of mystery which hovers over it. Especially is this true when they are considering a death which occurred under circumstances as strange as those that surrounded the passing of Nicolette Borgé. Dr. Émile Betolet was an elderly man, and doubtless he had stumbled on many a minor mystery in his 40 years of medical practice. But none to compare with the mystery that confronted him on that first day of August, 1869. The day when Madame Ghibert knocked at his door. Doctor, would you come over to the rooming house with me? Hi. I'm afraid something has happened to one of my boarders. As Dr. Betolet accompanied his neighbor down the street, she explained what had happened. It's Mame Zerbauché, doctor. She's a young woman in 307, a very nice young woman. She's been with me almost two years, and every morning I wake her at 7.30 sharp. But this morning, doctor, this morning she didn't answer. You are sure she spent the night in her room? Oh, yes. I was still up when she came in. You heard nothing during the night? Not to sound. And if there had been one, I would have heard it. I'm a very light sleeper. But this young woman is in good health? The very best of health. When they had climbed to the third floor of the rooming house, he too knocked on the door of room 307. Mame Zerbauché! Mame Zerbauché! Wake up, Mame Zerbauché! The door's locked and bolted on the inside. Yes, so she must be in there. Dr. Petter, they leaned his full weight against the door and shoved sharply with the shoulder. The lock yielded and the door flew open. Doctor! She is not here. Apparently not. But I don't understand. The door was locked from the inside. Look, so are all the windows. There's something else I don't understand. Don't you smell it? Stale smoke. Yes, yes I do. And if something had been scorched, what could it be? There is nothing burnt in here. No. Wait a minute. Dr. Petter, her eyes had fallen on the closet door. He stood quickly over, looked behind it, and then staggered back with a gasp of horror. Weren't you? Doctor, what is it? Stay right, madame. She's not at present sight. You mean, Mame Zerbauché? Yes. Her body's been almost consumed by fire. Yes, there in that room, behind locked windows and a bolted door, where the acrid smell of stale smoke gave the only hint of what had happened, where there was no trace of fire on any of the fixtures or the furnishings. There lay the body of mademoiselle Bourget, burnt almost ashes. Why had she got at no cry? How could the flames that destroyed her have been confined to the single spot in which she died? Such questions as these remain unanswered. And her death is a mystery which continues to baffle science. A mystery, incredible but true.