same woman that Sir Marcus went to see last
night?" Gatton continued.

The examination of Morris had reached a point at which I found myself
hard put to it to retain even a seeming of composure. All Gatton's
questions had been leading up to this suggestion, as I now perceived
clearly enough; and from the cousins' quarrel to Isobel, Eric's
_fiancee_, who was engaged at the New Avenue Theater, was an
inevitable step. But:

"Possibly, sir," was Morris's only answer.

Inspector Gatton stared hard at the man for a moment or so, then:

"Very well," he said. "Take my advice and turn in. There will be much
for you to do presently, I am afraid. Who was Sir Marcus's solicitor?"

Morris gave the desired information in a tired, toneless voice, and we
departed. Little did Gatton realize that his words were barbed, when,
as we descended to the street, he said:

"I have a call to make at Scotland Yard next, after which my first
visit will be to the stage-doorkeeper of the New Avenue Theater."

"Can I be of further assistance to you at the moment?" I asked,
endeavoring to speak casually.

"Thanks, no. But I should welcome your company this afternoon at my
examination of the Red House. I understand that it is in your
neighborhood, so perhaps as you are also professionally interested in
the case, you might arrange to meet me there. Are you returning home
now or going to the _Planet_ office?"

"I think to the office," I replied. "In any event 'phone there making
an appointment and I will meet you at the Red House."

CHAPTER IV

ISOBEL

Ten minutes later I was standing in a charming little boudoir which
too often figured in my daydreams. My own photograph was upon the
mantelpiece, and in Isobel's dark eyes when she greeted me there was a
light which I lacked the courage to try to understand. I had not at
that time learned what I learned later, and have already indicated,
that my own foolish silence had wounded Isobel as deeply as her
subsequent engagement to Eric Coverly had wounded me.

The psychology of a woman is intriguing in its very naivete, and now
as she stood before me, slim and graceful in her well-cut walking
costume, a quick flicker of red flaming in her cheeks and her eyes
alight with that sweet tantalizing look in which expectation and a hot
pride were mingled, I wondered and felt sick at heart. Desirable she
was beyond any other woman I had known, and I called myself witling
coward, to have avoided