him with the eye
of a hawk, "I do not think your request is altogether unreasonable--in the
circumstances. I dare say it could be arranged. I'll try to do so, but I
should like you to answer me one or two questions first."

"What do you want to know?"

"Was your master's daughter here--in the house, I mean--on the night of
his death?"

Thalassa's face hardened. "You, too?" he said simply. "I say again, as I
said before, that she was not."

"You said so," rejoined Mr. Brimsdown softly. "The question is--are you
telling the truth? If you know anything of the events of that night you
may be injuring Miss Turold by your silence."

For a moment Mr. Brimsdown thought his appeal was going to succeed. He
could have sworn that a flicker of hesitation--of irresolution--crossed
the old man's stern countenance. But the mood passed immediately, and it
was in an indifferent voice that Thalassa, turning to go, replied--

"If that's what you're reckoning on, I'd better go and pack my traps."

"Oh, I don't make that a condition," replied the lawyer, acknowledging his
defeat in a sporting spirit. "You can remain here and look after the house
until you decide what to do. As Robert Turold's old servant you are
entitled to consideration. I will help you afterwards, if you will let me
know your plans. I am sure that would have been your late master's wish."

"I want nothing from _him_," Thalassa rejoined, "a damned black
scoundrel."

Mr. Brimsdown was shocked at this savage outburst, but there was something
so implacable in the old man's air that the rebuke he wished to utter died
unspoken. Thalassa regarded him for a moment in silence, and then went
on--

"Thank'ee for letting me stop on here a bit. Now I'll tell you
something--about him." Again his thumb indicated the next room. "It was
the night after."

"Do you mean the night after he met his death?"

"Yes. Some one was upstairs in his room--in this room."

Mr. Brimsdown gave a startled glance around him, as though seeking a
lurking form in the shadows. "Here?" he breathed.

"Here, sure enough. I woke up in my bed downstairs, staring wide awake, as
though somebody had touched me on the shoulder. I was just turning over to
go to sleep again, when I heered a noise up here."

"What sort of a noise?"

"Like the rustling of paper. I listened for a bit, then it stopped. I
heard a board creak in the next room, where we'd carried him. Then the
rustling started in the other ro