he big daily papers, Mr. Ware. They offered no
explanation. But some Society reporter went down to Rickwell; to gather
scandal from the servants, I suppose."

"Off from Mrs. Parry," muttered Giles; then aloud, "Yes?"

"Well, this man or woman--most probably it was a woman--made up a very
pretty tale, which was printed in _The Firefly_."

"A scandalous paper," said Ware, annoyed. "What did it say?"

"That you were in love with Anne, that you were engaged to Miss Kent,
and that to gain you as her husband Anne killed the girl."

"It's a foul lie. I'll horsewhip the editor and make him put in an
apology."

"I shouldn't do that if I were you, Mr. Ware," said the old lady dryly.
"Better let sleeping dogs lie. I don't believe the whole story
myself--only part of it."

"What part, Mrs. Cairns?"

"That part which says you love Anne. I can see it in your face."

"If I can trust you----"

"Certainly you can. Anne is like my own child. I believe her guiltless
of this terrible crime, and I would do anything to see her righted. She
did not kill the girl."

"No, I believe the girl was killed by a nameless man who came to
Rickwell from some firm of solicitors. I don't know why he murdered the
poor child, no more than I can understand why Anne should have helped
him to escape."

"You call her Anne," said Mrs. Cairns softly.

Giles flushed through the tan of his strong face.

"I have no right to do so," he said. "She never gave me permission. Mrs.
Cairns, I assure you that there was no understanding between Miss Denham
and myself. I was engaged by my father to Miss Kent, and we were to be
married. I fell in love with Miss Denham, and I have reason to believe
that she returned my love."

"She told you so?"

"No, no! She and I never said words like that to one another. We were
friends; nothing more. Miss Kent chose to be jealous of a trifling gift
I gave Miss Denham at Christmas, and there was trouble. Then came an
anonymous letter, saying that Anne wished to kill Daisy."

"A letter, and said that?" exclaimed Mrs. Cairns in surprise. "But I
can't understand it at all. Anne had no enemies, so far as I know. No
one could hate so sweet a girl. Her father----"

"Did you know her father?" asked Ware quickly.

"No; but she often spoke of him. She was fond of her father, although he
seems to have been a wandering Bohemian. He died at Florence."

"I wonder if he really did die."

"Of course. He--but it's a long story, Mr