not be dragged into any confession," said Stratton fiercely.
"It is my secret, and I will tell it to none. I have a right to keep my
own counsel. You have a right to denounce me if you like. If you
speak, you can force me to no greater punishment than I suffer now."

"Then it is all true?" groaned Guest. "You killed him, and hid him
there?"

Stratton uttered a mocking laugh.

"That door!" said Guest huskily. "Twice over you have stopped me from
going there. Your manner has been that of a guilty man, and I am forced
to share the knowledge of your crime."

"No," said Stratton, speaking now with a look of calm contempt; "you
share no knowledge--you shall share no knowledge. You say I killed him
and hid him there; where are your proofs? You have brought in the
police, and they have searched. What have you found? Again, I say,
where are your proofs?"

Guest looked at him wildly, and his lips parted, but he uttered no
sound.

"Let me rest, my good fellow, let me rest. You are warring against your
own happiness in trying to pry into matters that are naught to you. I
will not blight your future, Percy Guest, by letting you share any
secrets of mine. There, good-night. I want to be alone."

Guest tried to recommence the argument, and to master the man who looked
so pitifully weak, but somehow the other's will was too powerful, and he
had to yield, leaving the chambers at last with a shudder of horror, and
feeling that he could never take Stratton by the hand again.

For the man seemed changed. There was a mocking, almost triumphant,
look in his eyes as he took the lamp from the table, and followed Guest
out on to the landing to stand there, holding the light over the massive
balustrade for his friend to descend.

As Guest reached the bottom, he looked up, and there, by the light which
fell full upon Stratton's face, was the strange, mocking air
intensified, and with a shiver he hurried across the inn, feeling that
the mystery had deepened instead of being cleared.

His intention was to hurry back to his own chambers, feeling that it was
impossible for him to go near Bourne Square, knowing what he did, but
the yearning for one to share his knowledge proved too strong.

"And I promised that she should share every secret," he said to himself.
"Whom am I to trust if I don't trust her!"

The result was that, with his brain in a whirl of excitement, and hardly
knowing what he did, he leaped into the first