ng in the corridor through a hole in the
framework of the screen. At last a figure came with hesitating
footsteps from behind the door into the full glare of the flickering
lamp. I could see him distinctly. It was--"

"Arthur Dynecourt!" cries the widow, covering her ghastly face with her
hands.

Florence regards her with surprise.

"It was," she says at last. "But how did you guess it?"

"I knew it," cries Dora frantically. "He has murdered him, he has hidden
his body away in that forgotten chamber. He was gloating over his
victim, no doubt, just before you saw him, stealing down from a secret
visit to the scene of his crime."

"Dora," exclaims Florence, grasping her arm, "if he should not have
murdered him after all, if he should only have secured him there,
holding him prisoner until he should see his way more clearly to getting
rid of him! If this idea be the correct one, we may yet be in time to
save, to rescue him!"

The agitation of the past hours proving now too much for her, Florence
bursts into tears and sobs wildly.

"Alas, I dare not believe in any such hope!" says Dora. "I know that man
too well to think him capable of showing any mercy."

"And yet 'that man,' as you call him, you would once have earnestly
recommended to me as a husband!" returns Florence, sternly.

"Do not reproach me now," exclaims Dora; "later on you shall say to me
all that you wish, but now moments are precious."

"You are right. Something must be done. Shall I--shall I speak to Mr.
Villiers?"

"I hardly know what to advise"--distractedly. "If we give our suspicions
publicity, Arthur Dynecourt may even yet find time and opportunity to
baffle and disappoint us. Besides which, we may be wrong. He may have
had nothing to do with it, and--"

"At that rate, if secrecy is to be our first thought, let you and me go
alone in search of Sir Adrian."

"Alone, and at this hour, to that awful room!" exclaims Dora, recoiling
from her.

"Yes, at once"--firmly--"without another moment's delay."

"Oh, I can not!" declares Dora, shuddering violently.

"Then I shall go alone!"

As Florence says this, she takes up her candlestick and moves quickly
toward the door.

"Stay, I will go," cries Dora, trembling. But a slight interruption
occurring at this instant, they are compelled to wait for awhile.

Ethel Villiers, coming into the room to make her parting adieus to
Mrs. Talbot, as she and her father intend leaving next morning, gaze