how I came to be looking in her direction when
she was struck down. You see, I speak with candor; I open my whole
heart."

Dr. Price, stroking his long beard, eyed the man with a thoughtful air
which changed to one of renewed inquiry. Instead of being convinced by
this outburst, he was conscious of a new and deepening distrust. The
transition from a low state of feeling to one so feverishly eager had
been too sudden. The avidity with which this man just off ship had made
a grasp at the offered explanation had been too marked; it lacked
sincerity and could impose on no one. Of this he seemed himself aware,
for again the ready flush ran from forehead to neck, and with a
deprecatory glance which included the silent detective he vehemently
exclaimed:

"I am poor at a lie. I see that you will have the whole truth. It was on
her account I crossed the ocean. It was by dogging her innocent steps
that I came to the museum this morning. I am a man of means, and I can do
as I please. When I said that I had never exchanged a word with her, I
spoke the truth. I never have; yet my interest in her was profound. I
have never seen any other girl or woman whom I was anxious to make my
wife. I hoped to meet and woo her in this country. I had no opportunity
for doing so in my own. I did not see her till a night or so before she
sailed, and then it was at the theater, where she sat with some friends
in an adjoining box. She talked, and I heard what she said. She was
leaving England. She was going to America to live; and she mentioned the
steamer on which she expected to sail. It may strike you as impetuous,
unnatural in an Englishman, and all that, but next morning I secured my
passage on that same ship. As I have just said, I am my own master and
can do as I please, and I pleased to do that. But for all the opportunity
which a voyage sometimes gives, I did not succeed in making her
acquaintance on shipboard, much as I desired it. I was ill for the first
three days and timorous the rest. I could only watch her moving about the
decks and wait for the happy moment in which I might be able to do her
some service. But that moment never came, and now it never will come."

The mournfulness with which this was uttered seemed genuine. The Coroner
was silenced by it, and it was left to Mr. Gryce to take up the
conversation. This he did with the same show of respect evinced by Dr.
Price.

"We are obliged to you for your confidence," said he. "Of