have
been so frank with me I'll show you what I promised. Do you remember the
anonymous letter and the reference to the Scarlet Cross?"

"Yes. Miss Denham said that her father--who is now dead--wore a
red-enamelled cross on his watch-chain."

"I know. Mrs. Morley told me so. Now see here." Mrs. Parry opened her
left hand, which for some time she had kept clenched. In her palm lay a
small gold cross enamelled red.

"Where did you get that?" asked Steel, astounded.

"Mrs. Bates, the pew-opener, found it in the church and brought it to
me. It was found near the spot where the stranger stood."

"What?" Steel started to his feet.

"Ah, you are beginning to see now!" said the old lady. "Yes, Steel, you
may well look. Anne is innocent. On the evidence of this cross I believe
that her father is not dead. He was the stranger; he killed Daisy, and
because he was her father Anne aided him to escape."

CHAPTER VII

OLIVER MORLEY

In due time the body of Daisy Kent was buried. Her remains were laid by
those of her father in the very churchyard about which she had
complained to Giles a short time before the tragedy of her death. Ware
being still ill, did not attend the funeral, but a large concourse of
people from all parts of the county followed the coffin to the grave.

Morley was the chief mourner, and looked haggard, as was natural. Poor
Mrs. Morley remained at home and wept. She did little else but weep in
those days, poor soul!

When Mr. Drake had finished the service, and the grave was filled up,
the crowd dispersed. There was a great deal of talk about the untimely
death of the girl and the chances of her murderess being caught.
Everyone believed that Anne was guilty; but as Steel had kept his own
counsel and Mrs. Parry held her tongue, no mention was made of the tall
man.

The chatter of Cissy Jinks and Martha Gibbs certainly seemed to
inculpate him in the matter, but only the villagers talked of this
especial point. It never reached the ears of the reporters, and did not
get into the papers. But the journals gave a good deal of space to the
affair, and hinted that it was what the French call "un crime
passional." Still, no paper was daring enough to hint at Giles and his
presumed connection with the tragedy. It was merely stated that he had
been engaged to the deceased girl, and felt her death so deeply, as was
natural, that he had taken to his bed. Of course, this was an
embellishment of facts, as