ooked at me eagerly.

"Well?"

"I told him that I am expecting an offer of work of some sort from the
Duke. Of course it may not come. In any case, it was very kind of Mr.
Moyat."

She drew a little closer to me.

"It was my idea," she whispered. I put it into his head."

"Then it was very kind of you too," I answered. She was apparently
disappointed. We sat for several moments in silence. Then she looked
around with an air of mystery, and whispered still more softly into my
ear--

"I haven't said a word about that--to anybody."

"Thank you very much," I answered. "I was quite sure that you wouldn't,
as you had promised."

Again there was silence. She looked at me with some return of that half
fearsome curiosity which had first come into her eyes when I made my
request.

"Wasn't the inquest horrid?" she said. "Father says they were five
hours deciding--and there's old Joe Hassell; even now he won't believe
that--that--he came from the sea."

"It isn't a pleasant subject," I said quietly. "Let us talk of
something else."

She was swinging a very much beaded slipper backwards and forwards, and
gazing at it thoughtfully.

"I don't know," she said. "I can't help thinking of it sometimes. I
suppose it is terribly wicked to keep anything back like that, isn't
it?"

"If you feel that," I answered, "you had better go and tell your father
everything."

She looked at me quickly.

"Now you're cross," she exclaimed. "I'm sure I don't know why."

"I am not cross," I said, "but I do not wish you to feel unhappy about
it."

"I don't mind that," she answered, lifting her eyes to mine, "if it is
better for you."

The door opened and Mr. Moyat appeared. Blanche was obviously annoyed,
I was correspondingly relieved. I rose at once, and took my leave.

"Blanche got you to change your mind?" he said, looking at me closely.

"Miss Moyat hasn't tried," I answered, shaking him by the hand. "We
were talking about something else."

Blanche pushed past her father and came to let me out. We stood for a
moment at the open door. She pointed down the street.

"It was just there he stopped me," she said in a low tone. "He was very
pale, and he had such a slow, strange voice, just like a foreigner. It
was in the shadow of the market-hall there. I wish I'd never seen him."

A note of real fear seemed to have crept into her voice. Her eyes were
straining through the darkness. I forced a laugh as I lit my cigarette.

"