other things." He was perfectly
quiet--you know he was said never to lose control of himself--though
there was a light in his eyes that would have frightened a man who was
in the wrong, I dare say. But I had been thoroughly roused by his last
remark, and the tone of it, which I cannot reproduce. You see,' said Mr.
Cupples simply, 'I love my niece. She is the only child that there has
been in our--in my house. Moreover, my wife brought her up as a girl,
and any reflection on Mabel I could not help feeling, in the heat of the
moment, as an indirect reflection upon one who is gone.'

'You turned upon him,' suggested Trent in a low tone. 'You asked him to
explain his words.'

'That is precisely what I did,' said Mr. Cupples. 'For a moment he
only stared at me, and I could see a vein on his forehead swelling--an
unpleasant sight. Then he said quite quietly, "This thing has gone far
enough, I guess," and turned to go.'

'Did he mean your interview?' Trent asked thoughtfully.

'From the words alone you would think so,' Mr. Cupples answered. 'But
the way in which he uttered them gave me a strange and very apprehensive
feeling. I received the impression that the man had formed some sinister
resolve. But I regret to say I had lost the power of dispassionate
thought. I fell into a great rage'--Mr. Cupples's tone was mildly
apologetic--'and said a number of foolish things. I reminded him that
the law allowed a measure of freedom to wives who received intolerable
treatment. I made some utterly irrelevant references to his public
record, and expressed the view that such men as he were unfit to live.
I said these things, and others as ill-considered, under the eyes, and
very possibly within earshot, of half a dozen persons sitting on this
veranda. I noticed them, in spite of my agitation, looking at me as I
walked up to the hotel again after relieving my mind for it undoubtedly
did relieve it,' sighed Mr. Cupples, lying back in his chair.

'And Manderson? Did he say no more?'

'Not a word. He listened to me with his eyes on my face, as quiet as
before. When I stopped he smiled very slightly, and at once turned
away and strolled through the gate, making for White Gables.' 'And this
happened--?' 'On the Sunday morning.'

'Then I suppose you never saw him alive again?'

'No,' said Mr. Cupples. 'Or rather yes--once. It was later in the day,
on the golf-course. But I did not speak to him. And next morning he was
found dead.'

T