_Empire_ and we found that your
sitting-room had been entered from that same window. The door was
locked and we all thought that burglars must be there. I climbed in
at the window from the garden. You know what I found."

All the time she seemed to have been making an effort to listen to
him unconcernedly. At this point, however, she broke down. She
abandoned her attempt at continuing her luncheon. She looked up at
him and he could see that she was trembling.

"Don't go on!" she begged; "please don't!"

"I must," he insisted. "These things have taken possession of me. I
cannot sleep or rest for thinking of them."

"For my sake," she implored, "try and forget!"

He shook his head.

"It isn't possible," he said simply. "I am not made like that. Even
if you hate me for it, I must go on. You know what I found in your
sitting-room that night."

"But this is cruel!" she murmured.

"I found a dead man, a man who, to all appearance, had been
murdered in there. Not only that, but there must have been people
close at hand who were connected with him in some way, or who were
responsible for the crime. We left the room for five minutes, and
when we came back he had disappeared. All that we can judge as to
what became of him is that that same night a dead man was left in a
taxicab, not far away, by an unknown man whom as yet the police have
failed to find."

"But this is all too horrible!" she murmured. "Why, do you remind me
of it?"

"Because I must," he went on. "Listen. There are other things. This
man Starling, for instance, whom I met at your house, and who is
suspected of the murder of Rosario--both your brother and you seem
to be trying to shield him. I don't understand it; I can't
understand it. Your brother talked to me strangely the night I dined
with him, but half the time I felt that he was not serious. I do not
for a moment believe that he would stoop to any undignified or
criminal action. I believe in him as I do in you. Yet if Starling is
guilty, why do you both protect him?"

"Is there anything else?" she faltered.

"There is the final thing," he reminded her; "the reason why I have
mentioned these matters to you at all--I mean the disappearance of
Mr. Weatherley. Supposing he does not come back, how am I to keep
silent, knowing all that I know, knowing that he was living in a
house surrounded by mysteries? I hate my suspicions. They are like
ugly shadows which follow me about. I like and admire you