atter at all? There really isn't any necessity. Some one else
probably saw him besides you, and they will soon find their way to this
woman."

"It was only to me," she murmured, "that he spoke of you."

"Do you believe," I asked, "that I murdered him?"

She shuddered.

"No, of course I don't," she declared.

"Then why all this nervousness and mystery?" I asked. "I have no fear
of anything which might happen. Why should you be afraid?"

"I am not afraid," she said slowly, "but there is something about it
which I do not understand. Ever since that morning you have avoided
me."

"Nonsense!" I exclaimed.

"It is not nonsense," she answered. "It is the truth. You used to come
sometimes to see father--and now you never come near the place. It
is--too bad of you," she went on, with a little sob. "I thought that
after that morning, and my promising to do what you asked, that we
should be greater friends than ever. Instead of that you have never
been near us since. And I don't care who knows it. I am miserable."

She was leaning against the arm of my chair. It was clearly my duty to
administer the consolation which the situation demanded. I realized,
however, that the occasion was critical, and I ignored her proximity.

"Miss Moyat," I said, "I am sorry if asking you to tell that harmless
little fib has made you miserable. I simply desired--"

"It isn't altogether that," she interrupted. "You know it isn't."

"You give me credit for greater powers of divination than I possess," I
answered calmly. "Your father was always very kind to me, and I can
assure you that I have not forgotten it. But I have work to do now, and
I have scarcely an hour to spare. Mr. Moyat would understand it, I am
sure."

The door was suddenly opened. Mrs. Moyat, fat and comely, came in.
She surveyed us both with a friendly and meaning smile, which somehow
made my cheeks burn. It was no fault of mine that Blanche had been
hanging over my chair.

"Come," she said, "I'm sure I'm very glad to see you once more, Mr.
Ducaine. Such a stranger as you are too! But you don't mean to sit in
here without a fire all the afternoon, I suppose, Blanche. Tea is just
ready in the dining-room. Bring Mr. Ducaine along, Blanche."

I held out my hand.

"I am sorry that I cannot stop, Mrs. Moyat," I said. "Good-afternoon,
Miss Moyat."

She looked me in the eyes.

"You are not going," she murmured.

"I am afraid," I answered, "that it is imperative. I oug