While
he slept, Marette and a man were down in the big room with the
Inspector of Police. The climax had come, and Kedsty was struck a
blow--in some unaccountable way--with his own gun. Then, just as Kedsty
was recovering sufficiently from the shock of the blow to fight,
Marette's companion had killed him. Horrified, dazed by what had
already happened, perhaps unconscious, she had been powerless to
prevent the use of a tress of her hair in the murderer's final work.
Kent, in this picture, eliminated the boot-laces and the curtain cords.
He knew that the unusual and the least expected happened frequently in
crime. And Marette's long hair was flowing loose about her. To use it
had simply been the first inspiration of the murderer. And Kent
believed, as he waited for her answer now, that Marette would tell him
this.

And as he waited, he felt her fingers tighten in his hand.

"Tell me, Gray Goose--what happened?"

"I--don't--know--Jeems--"

His eyes went to her suddenly from the fire, as if he was not quite
sure he had heard what she had said. She did not move her head, but
continued to gaze unseeingly into the flames. Inside his palm her
fingers worked to his thumb and held it tightly again, as they had
clung to it when she was frightened by the thunder and lightning.

"I don't know what happened, Jeems."

This time he did not feel the clinging thrill of her little fingers and
soft palm. Deep within him he experienced something that was like a
sudden and unexpected blow. He was ready to fight for her until his
last breath was gone. He was ready to believe anything she told
him--anything except this impossible thing which she had just spoken.
For she did know what had happened in Kedsty's room. She knew--unless--

Suddenly his heart leaped with joyous hope. "You mean--you were
unconscious?" he cried in a low voice that trembled with his eagerness.
"You fainted--and it happened then?"

She shook her head. "No. I was asleep in my room. I didn't intend to
sleep, but--I did. Something awakened me. I thought I had been
dreaming. But something kept pulling me, pulling me downstairs. And
when I went, I found Kedsty like that. He was dead. I was paralyzed,
standing there, when you came."

She drew her, hand away from him, gently, but significantly. "I know
you can't believe me, Jeems. It is impossible for you to believe me."

"And you don't want me to believe you, Marette."

"Yes--I do. You must believe me."

"But