ou want
him?"

"No. I will go myself. Take these gentlemen into the bar parlour, and
return to the bar."

Colwyn made his way upstairs in the dark. He passed the rooms where Mr.
Glenthorpe had been murdered and Penreath had slept, and the room from
which he had watched Peggy's nocturnal visit to the death chamber. That
wing of the inn was as empty and silent as it had been the night of the
murder, but a lighted candle, placed on an old hall stand which Colwyn
remembered having seen that night in the lumber room, flickered in the
wavering shadows--a futile human effort to ward off the lurking terrors
of darkness by the friendly feeble companionship of a light which could
be extinguished even more quickly than a life.

Colwyn took the candle to light him down the second passage to the mad
woman's room. As he reached it, the door opened, and Peggy stepped
forth. She recoiled at the sight of the detective.

"You!" she breathed. "Oh, why----"

"I have come to see your father," said Colwyn. It went to his heart to
see the entreaty in her eyes, the pitiful droop of her lips and the
thinness of her face.

The door was opened widely, and the innkeeper appeared on the threshold
beside his daughter. Behind him, Colwyn could see the old mad woman in
her bed in the corner of the room, mumbling to herself and fondling her
doll. The innkeeper fastened his bird-like eyes on the detective's face.

"What are you doing here?" he said, and there was no mistaking the note
of terror in his voice. "What is it you want?"

"I want to speak to you downstairs," said the detective.

The innkeeper looked swiftly to the right and left with the instinct of
a trapped animal seeking an avenue of escape. Then his eyes returned to
the detective's face with the resigned glance of a man who had made up
his mind.

"I will come down with you," he said. "Peggy, you must look after your
grandmother till I return."

The girl went back into the room and shut the door behind her, without a
word or a glance. Once more Colwyn felt admiration for her as a rare
type of woman-hood. Truly, she had self-control, this girl.

He and the innkeeper took their way along the passages and descended the
stairs without exchanging a word. When they got to the foot of the
stairs Benson half hesitated, and turned to Colwyn as if for direction.
The latter nodded towards the door of the bar parlour, and motioned the
innkeeper to enter. Following closely behind, he saw