eeding to extremes. One way is for me to
see him and take him into my confidence--to explain fully to him what
happened. He would not be satisfied with less than the full story. If I
kept anything back his suspicions would remain; in fact, they would be
strengthened. I would have to explain to him why and how I induced Sir
Horace to return unexpectedly from Scotland on that fatal night, and what
took place at Riversbrook. You will understand why I have hesitated to
adopt that course. I would not suggest it to you now except that I see it
would save you from the danger of something a great deal worse. Of
course it would save me from the annoyance of being suspected of knowing
something about the actual murder, but it is your interests that come
first in the matter. It would be effective in putting an end to all our
fears--all my fears. I would bind him to secrecy, of course. I do not ask
you to come to a decision immediately, but I do ask you to think it over
and let me know. I have been extremely reluctant to put this proposal
before you, because I should hate carrying it out, because I should hate
telling this man of things which are really no concern of anyone but
ourselves. But I cannot disguise from myself that it would remove a
greater danger. I believe the secret would be safe with him. I understand
that in private life he is a gentleman, and that I would be safe in
taking his word of honour. It would not be necessary for him to tell the
police--still less to tell Miss Fewbanks."

"Is there no other way?" she asked. "Have you thought of any other way?"

"Yes. The only other way out that I have been able to find is for me to
see Miss Fewbanks and ask her to withdraw the case from Crewe. I would
not tell her everything--I would not bring you into it at all. But I
could tell her that I had had an urgent matter to discuss with her
father; that he came from Scotland to discuss it with me, and that after
I left him he was murdered. I would tell her that it was quite impossible
for me to disclose what the business was about, but that Crewe, having
learnt that I had seen her father that night, was extremely suspicious. I
would ask her to accept my word of honour that I had no knowledge of who
killed her father, and to relieve me of the annoyance of the attentions
of this man Crewe. I think she would agree to that proposal. That is the
other way out, and from something which has happened this morning I am
inclined to think