ed representative of
the law, looking now one way and now the other, and evidently undecided
whether to go on or return. Ultimately, it would seem, Robinson went
with the stretcher-bearers, because Grant and the girl saw no more of
him for the time.

Grant had received several shocks since rising from the breakfast-table,
but it was left for Doris Martin, the postmaster's daughter, to
administer not the least surprising one.

Though almost breathless, and wide-eyed with horror, her opening words
were very much to the point.

"How awful!" she cried. "Why should any-one in Steynholme want to kill a
great actress like Adelaide Melhuish?"

Now, the name of the dead woman was literally the last thing Grant
expected to hear from this girl's lips, and the astounding fact
momentarily banished all other worries.

"You knew her?" he gasped.

"No, not exactly. But I couldn't avoid recognizing her when she asked for
her letters, and sent a telegram."

"But--"

"Oh, Robinson told me she was dead. I see now what is puzzling you."

"It is not quite that. I mean, why didn't you tell me she was in
Steynholme? Has she been staying here any length of time?"

The girl's pretty face crimsoned, and then grew pale.

"I--had no idea--she was--a friend of yours, Mr. Grant," she stammered.

"She used to be a friend, but I have not set eyes on her during the past
three years--until last night."

"Last night!"

"After you had gone home. I was doing some work, and, having occasion to
consult a book, lighted a candle, and put it in the small window near the
bookcase. Then I fancied I saw a woman's face, _her_ face, peering in,
and was so obsessed by the notion that I went outside, but everything was
so still that I persuaded myself I was mistaken."

"Oh, is that what it was?"

Grant threw out his hands in a gesture that was eloquent of some feeling
distinctly akin to despair.

"You don't usually speak in enigmas, Doris," he said. "What in the world
do you mean by saying:--'Oh, is that what it was?'"

The girl--she was only nineteen, and never before had aught of tragic
mystery entered her sheltered life--seemed to recover her
self-possession with a quickness and decision that were admirable.

"There is no enigma," she said calmly. "My room overlooks your lawn.
Before retiring for the night I went to the window, just to have another
peep at Sirius and its changing lights, so I could not help seeing you
fling open the French w