hey would do anything to annoy him.

"I see you don't understand!" she lamented suddenly, turning her head
away a little.

He could see how her lips trembled, as if she held them together only by
immense resolution.

"I think I do," he contradicted kindly. "You want my help; isn't that
it?"

"Yes." She looked at him again, with a quick turn of her head, her eyes
less wide-open while she searched his face. "I want to employ you. Can't
I--what do they call it?--retain you?"

"To do what, exactly?"

"Oh-h-h!" The exclamation had the hint of a sob in it; she was close to
the end of her strength. "I'm a little uncertain about that. Can't you
help me there? I want the real criminal found soon, immediately, as soon
as possible. I want you to work on that. And, in the meantime, I want
you to protect us--father--do things so that we shan't be overrun by
reporters and detectives, all the dreadful results of the discovery of a
murder at our very front door."

He was thoughtful, looking into her eyes.

"The fee is of no matter, the amount of it," she added impulsively.

"I wasn't thinking of that--although, of course, I don't despise fees.
You see, the authorities, the sheriff, might not want my assistance, as
you call it. Generally, they don't. They look upon it as interference
and meddling."

"Still, you can work independently--retained by Mr. Arthur Sloane--can't
you?"

He studied her further. For her age--hardly more than twenty-two--she
was strikingly mature of face, and self-reliant. She had, he concluded,
unusual strength of purpose; she was capable of large emotionalism, but
mere feeling would never cloud her mind.

"Yes," he answered her; "I can do that. I will."

"Ah," she breathed, some of the tenseness going out of her, "you are
very good!"

"And you will help me, of course."

"Of course."

"You can do so now," he pressed this point. "Why is it that all of
you--I noticed it in the men in the library, and when we were outside,
on the lawn--why is it that all of you think this crime is going to hit
you, one of you, so hard? You seem to acknowledge in advance the guilt
of one of you."

"Aren't you mistaken about that?"

"No. It struck me forcibly. Didn't you feel it? Don't you, now?"

"Why, no!"

He was certain that she was not frank with him.

"You mean," she added quickly, eyes narrowed, "I suspect--actually
suspect some one in this house?"

In his turn, he was non-committal, retorting: