hat he
followed me.

When I had done, he said, 'You were right to tell me. We must look into
it. It will, if proved true, make a most remarkable story. Most
sensational and remarkable.' He turned it over in that acute, quick
brain of his.

'We must go carefully,' he said. 'Remember we haven't much to go on yet.'

He didn't believe in the crystal-gazing, of course, so had less to go on
than I had. All he saw was the inherent possibility of the story
(knowing, as he did, the hatred that had existed between the two men) and
the damning fact of Gideon's presence at the house that evening.

'We must be careful,' he repeated. 'Careful, for one thing, not to
start talk about the fellow's friendship with Jane. We must keep Jane
out of it all.'

On that we were agreed.

'I think we must ask Clare a few questions,' said Percy.

He did so next day, without mentioning our suspicion. But Clare could
still scarcely bear to speak of that terrible evening, poor child, and
returned incoherent answers. She knew Mr. Gideon had been in the
house, but didn't know what time he had gone, nor the exact time of
the accident.

I resolved to question Emily, Jane's little maid, more closely, and did
so when I went there that afternoon. She was certainly more
circumstantial than she had been when she had told me the story before,
in the first shock and confusion of the disaster. I gathered from her
that she had heard her master and Mr. Gideon talking immediately before
the fall; she had been surprised when her mistress had said that Mr.
Gideon had left the house before the fall. She thought, from the sounds,
that he must have left the house immediately afterwards.

'It is possible,' I said, 'that Mrs. Hobart did not know precisely when
Mr. Gideon left the house. It was all very confusing.'

'Oh, my lady, indeed it was,' Emily agreed. 'I'm sure I hope I shall
never have such a night again.'

I said nothing to Jane of my suspicion. If I was right in thinking that
the poor misguided child was shielding her husband's murderer, from
whatever motives of pity or friendship, the less said to disturb her the
better, till we were sure of our ground.

But I talked to a few other people about it, on whose discretion I could
rely. I tried to find out, and so did Percy, what was this man's record.
What transpired of it was not reassuring. His father was, as we knew
before, a naturalised Russian Jew, presumably of the lowest class in his
own land,