his chair.

"He did not find out anything, then?" he asked.

She was silent. She had not expected this, and she scarcely knew how to
answer.

"He found out what Mr. Brown--I mean Mr. Maddison--himself told me, that
he had known Sir Geoffrey abroad."

"Nothing more?"

"I did not ask. To tell the truth, I was not interested. The idea of Mr.
Maddison being connected with such a crime is simply ridiculous. I was
heartily sorry that I had ever taken any steps at all."

Mr. Thurwell lit a cigarette, and drew his remaining letters toward him.

"I must confess," he said slowly, "that when his house was searched in
my presence, and all that we discovered was that Mr. Brown was really
Bernard Maddison, I felt very much as you feel; and, as you no doubt
remember, I went out of my way to be civil to the man, and brought him
up here to dine. But since then things have cropped up, and I'm bound to
say that it looks a little queer. I hear that young man of yours told
several people that he had in his pocket what would bring Mr. Brown to
the scaffold any day."

"It is not true," she answered in a low firm tone. "I know that it is
not true."

Mr. Thurwell shrugged his shoulders.

"I hope not, I'm sure. Still, I'd rather he did not come back here
again. Some one must have done it, you see, and if it was a stranger,
he must have been a marvelous sort of fellow to come into this lonely
part of the country, and go away again without leaving a single trace."

"Criminals are all clever at disguises," she interposed.

"Doubtless; but they have yet to learn the art of becoming invisible,"
he went on drily. "I'm afraid it's no use concealing the fact that
things look black against Maddison, and there is more than a whisper in
the county about it. If he's a wise fellow, he'll keep away from here."

"He will not," she answered. "He will come back. He is innocent!"

Mr. Thurwell saw the rising flush in his daughter's face, but he had no
suspicion as to its real cause. He knew that Bernard Maddison was one of
her favorite authors, and he put her defence of him down to that fact.
He was not a particularly warm advocate on either side, and suddenly
remembering his unopened letters, he abandoned the discussion.

Helen, whose calm happiness had been altogether disturbed, rose in a few
minutes with the intention of making her escape. But her father, with an
open letter in his hand, checked her.

"Have you been seeing much of Sir Allen