-committal, followed after a pause by a quick
change of tone.

"I shall investigate this story later," he said coldly. "Meantime--"

"Why not investigate it immediately?" asked Charles in a disappointed
voice. "Thalassa will be back directly, or I can take you down to the
cliffs were I left him."

Barrant was reminded of the flight of time. It would be as well to remove
Charles before Thalassa returned. Time enough for Thalassa's story later!
At that moment it seemed to Barrant that the final solution of the mystery
was almost in his hands. Mrs. Thalassa had been wiser than he. The single
game of patience suggested the solution of the problem of the time. It did
more than that. It seemed to provide the key of the greater problem of
Charles Turold's actions on that night. He had endeavoured to shield
Sisily by altering the hands of the clock. The rest, for the present, must
remain mere conjecture. One more question he essayed--

"Can you tell me where Miss Turold is to be found?"

"I know, but I am not going to tell you."

Barrant's eye rested on Charles.

"You must come with me," he said.

Charles nodded. Despairingly he reflected that the interview had not
turned out as he expected. There were other means, and he must be patient.

And Sisily? There was anguish in that thought.

CHAPTER XXXI

With a beating heart Sisily gained the shelter of her room and locked the
door, her eyes glancing quickly around her. She did not expect to see
anything there, but she had reached the stage of instinctive terror when
one fears lurking shadows, unexpected noises, or an imagined alteration in
the contour of familiar things. There was nothing in the room to alarm
her, and her thoughts flew back to the face of the man she had seen in the
street outside. The owner of the face had leered at first, and then his
glance hardened into suspicion as he looked. When she hurried past him he
had shifted his position to stare at her by the light of the street lamp.
Had he followed her? That was the question she could not answer. She had
heard footsteps behind her in the dark street, horrible stealthy footsteps
which had caused terror to rush over her like a flood, and sent her flying
along the street to her one haven. As she ran she had felt a touching
faith in the security of her room, if she could reach it. Out there, in
the open street, it had seemed impregnable, like a fortress.

Now as she sat there she had a revulsion of