of he would have dropped on
his knee; but somebody, several somebodies, watched the interesting
interview from a distance. He bowed over the extended hand as a courtier
might over that of a queen; he wished he dare kiss it on the same--on
any basis, but he took it warmly.

"Forgive me for every word, Miss Sanford; but I've been sore tried of
late."

"I would be less apt to forgive you if you did _not_ resent every
suspicion of Mr. Ray. It is too late to undo last night's wretched work,
or the misery it caused us. I have tried to explain it all for Mrs.
Truscott, but what I want now is to know what he needs. Is it money, or
influence, or anything? Tell me truly, Mr. Blake; I want to know all you
can tell me."

"You shall know before I tell another soul. As yet,--forgive me
again,--this will supply his greatest need." And holding up her note, he
turned quickly away.

She was blushing now--crimson,--but there was something she had to know,
and so recalled him.

"Has anything new been discovered,--have any steps been taken towards
finding the murderer?"

"Mr. Green, the lawyer whom we have consulted, has had an interview
with Ray, and he has a clue now of some kind that is being
investigated."

"And you know whom he suspects?"

"He has not told me, Miss Sanford, and--something that occurred recently
in the garrison had set me to asking him questions which he declined to
answer,--another matter entirely,--I saw he had reasons for keeping it
to himself----"

"Mr. Blake, have you still that note he sent last night?"

"No; he burned that this morning."

"Has he said nothing--nothing to indicate whom he suspects?"

"Not to me--as yet. We have had too much to attend to, perhaps, but it
is plainly something he hates to allude to."

"Look! Mr. Blake; they are calling you--down the row. You will come back
and tell us what it is?"

"Yes, and at once."

Warner and Mr. Green were indeed calling him. Among the letters in the
breast-pocket of Gleason's blouse were three signed Rallston. They were
reading them with eager interest when the little detective from Denver
sauntered in from the rear room.

"This--a--gauntlet, lieutenant, was lying with some other things on top
of the bureau. Were you going to pack it in the trunk?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Well, a single right-hand glove won't be of much use to the relatives
of the deceased, especially an old worn one like this. Where's the
mate?"

"I don't remember seeing one