in whose house Culser was killed. Did he refer to her on this
particular evening, standing by the river's brink?" Susan replied in the
negative. "Did he seem ill at ease, worried about anything? Was he
hurried in manner?"

To all of this Susan Brundon answered no, in a voice that constantly
grew lower, but which never faltered, hesitated. The Mayor turned aside
for a whispered consultation with the High Constable. The former nodded.
"Have you any--shall we say--proprietary interest in Mr. Penny's
affairs?" Her reply was hardly audible in the room stilled for what
might be revealed. "No," she breathed, her gloved fingers interlacing.
Jasper Penny's lips were drawn in a hard line; Stephen gazed fixedly at
the floor. The Mayor gesticulated affably toward the lawyer. "That'll
do," he declared. "Pleasure, Mr. Penny, to have you so completely
cleared. I shall have to demand your assistance further,
though--knowledge of Mrs. Scofield. And, in the case of her apprehension
and trial, you will, of course, be called. Communication will be made
through Mr. Jannan. No doubt in our mind now of the facts." A policeman
opened the door and a surge of the curious pressed in. "Take her away,"
Jasper Penny whispered to Jannan; "this is damnable."

Susan rose, gathering up her mantle, and moved to Stephen Jannan's side.
He offered his arm with a formal courtesy, and together they made their
way out through the corridor. Jasper, lost in a moody abstraction,
waited until they had vanished; and then, with a lowered head, walked
rapidly over Chestnut Street in the direction of the terminus of the
railroad for Jaffa. A brigade of cars was made up; he took a place and
was immediately dragged on and over the viaduct to the plane and waiting
engine beyond. He could see, from the demeanour of the loungers on the
Jaffa platform, that the news of the murder, his connection with it, had
preceded him. To-morrow's papers would provide them with full accounts,
the name of Susan Brundon among the maculate details.... The meanest
cast boy in his works would regard him, the knowledge of Essie, with a
leer.

His mother was at the main door of Myrtle Forge, pale but composed.
"Take Mr. Penny's overcoat," she brusquely directed a servant. He had
never seen a more delectable supper than the one awaiting him; and he
tasted most of what found its way to his plate--he owed that to the
maternal solicitude secretly regarding him, hastily masked as he met his
moth