w can I save you?'

"'Take the responsibility for the theft upon yourself,' he said. 'Your
mother is involved in this heavily.'

"'Does she know?'

"He nodded. I found afterwards that he was lying to me and was preying
upon my love for mother.

"I was dazed and horrified," said the girl, "at the thought that poor
dear mother might be involved in this horrible scandal, and when he
suggested that I should write a confession at his dictation and should
leave by the first train for the Continent until the matter blew over, I
fell in with his scheme without protest--and that is all."

"Why did you come to Hertford to-night?" asked Tarling.

Again she smiled.

"To get the confession," she said simply "I knew Milburgh would keep it
in the safe. I saw him when I left the hotel--he had telephoned to me and
made the appointment at the shop where I slipped the detectives, and it
was there that he told me----" she stopped suddenly and went red.

"He told you I was fond of you," said Tarling quietly, and she nodded.

"He threatened to take advantage of that fact, and wanted to show you the
confession."

"I see," said Tarling, and heaved a deep sigh of relief. "Thank God!" he
said fervently.

"For what?" she asked, looking at him in astonishment.

"That everything is clear. To-morrow I will arrest the murderer of
Thornton Lyne!"

"No, no, not that," she said, and laid her hand on his shoulder, her
distressed face looking into his, "surely not that. Mr. Milburgh could
not have done it, he could not be so great a scoundrel."

"Who sent the wire to your mother saying you were not coming down?"

"Milburgh," replied the girl.

"Did he send two wires, do you remember?" said Tarling.

She hesitated.

"Yes, he did," she said, "I don't know who the other was to."

"It was the same writing anyway," he said.

"But----"

"Dear," he said, "you must not worry any more about it. There is a trying
time ahead of you, but you must be brave, both for your own sake and for
your mother's, and for mine," he added.

Despite her unhappiness she smiled faintly.

"You take something for granted, don't you?" she asked.

"Am I doing that?" he said in surprise.

"You mean--" she went redder than ever--"that I care enough for you--that
I would make an effort for your sake?"

"I suppose I do," said Tarling slowly, "it's vanity, I suppose?"

"Perhaps it is instinct," she said, and squeezed his arm.

"I must take you back to your