may be still another way out. Men have borrowed each other's boots
before now. And if you can tell me the size of the feet of the men in
this household, it will be a considerable help."

She lifted her eyes and looked at him, filled with a sudden hope.

"I can tell you Ross's this minute," she said quickly. "He takes eights.
He has a small foot, like poor old Father had. And Cyril's, of course,
is just a boy's foot--sevens, I think."

"Any one else?"

"The butler, Jarvis. Our groom, Batchett, and the old gardener,
McGubbins--and Mr. Tavish; but he's a huge man, and would take elevens,
I should imagine--if not bigger. Anyhow, I'll make inquiries, and be
back with you in ten minutes, if that will do."

"Make it twenty minutes, _here_--for I've other things to attend to,"
returned Cleek with a smile. "And don't worry more than you can help.
Things will right themselves in time, you know; and there are lots of
blind alleys in the pursuit of Justice which we often imagine to be the
royal road to Rome. In twenty minutes, then. By the way, who attends to
your laundry, may I ask? The sorting and counting of it I mean."

"You amazing man! What on earth do you want to know that for? Why, the
laundry-maid, supervised by Miss McCall. One of her endless stream of
duties."

"Thanks.... One more question. What do you know of Miss Catherine Dowd?"

She shook her head.

"Only that she is Cynthia's cousin," she returned uncertainly, "and
that she has been staying down here on and off all through the spring.
She--she's rather fond of Ross, I believe, Mr. Deland--though for
mercy's sake don't whisper it aloud! We call her 'La Gioconda,' you
know. She's so odd and inscrutable."

"Exactly. I nicknamed her that myself. And I'll tell you another secret,
too. She brought me this morning the stiletto which so obviously stabbed
your father. She says she found it sticking in the curtains. Have you
ever discovered that the young lady lies, Miss Duggan?"

She gave a quick, uneasy laugh, and shrugged her shoulders.

"Ross always says he wouldn't trust her on sight," she paraphrased, with
a nervous gesture. "We've tripped her up--on purpose--lots of times, you
know, as girls do to one another. But to men, it seems a mean trick, I
expect, Mr. Deland. Only, she elaborates so frightfully, you know. About
her family and their money, and all the rest of it. And that's such
frightfully bad form. If people really 'belong,' they don't have to
ad