Kelson recoiled as from a blow, staring at his friend with a horror-struck face.  “Why, good heavens, what do you mean?” he gasped.

“Only,” Gifford answered calmly, “that when you introduced me to Miss Tredworth at the dance I noticed the stains on the white flowers she wore.”

“You did?” Kelson was staring stupidly at Gifford.  “And you knew they were blood-stains?”

“I could not tell that,” was the answer.  “But now it is pretty certain they were.”

For some seconds neither man spoke.  Then with an effort Kelson seemed to nerve himself to put another question.

“Hugh,” he said, his eyes pitiful with fear, “you—­you don’t think Muriel Tredworth had anything to do with Henshaw’s death?”

Gifford turned away, and leaned on the mantelpiece.

“I don’t know what to think,” he said gloomily.

CHAPTER XI

GIFFORD’S COMMISSION

Next morning directly after breakfast Kelson started for Wynford Place.  As the result of deliberating fully upon the anxious problem before them, he and Gifford had come to the conclusion that it might be a grave mistake to try to keep secret the maid’s discovery.  It would doubtless by this time have become a subject of gossip and speculation in the household and consequently would very soon become public.  Accordingly it was arranged that Kelson should arrive first and have a private interview with Muriel Tredworth with a view to ascertaining finally and for certain whether she could in any way account for the stain on her dress.  Gifford was to follow half an hour later, when they would have a conference with the Morristons and afterwards, with their approval, go into the town and see the chief constable on the subject.  If Gifford was doubtful as to the expediency of the plan, and it was with a considerable amount of hesitation that he brought himself to agree to it, he seemed to have no good reason to urge against it.  And, after all, it appeared, in the circumstances, the only politic course to follow.  Secrecy was practically now out of the question, and any attempt in that direction would inevitably fail and would in all probability produce results unpleasant to contemplate.

When Gifford arrived at Wynford Place he found Kelson pacing the drive and impatiently expecting him.

“Come along,” he exclaimed, “the Morristons are waiting for us.”

“Miss Tredworth—?”

“Is utterly unable to account for the state of her dress,” Kelson declared promptly.  “She is positive that if she noticed the man she never spoke a word to him, nor danced with him.  She says that if she ever met him before, as according to that girl the other day was the case, she had quite forgotten the circumstance.  So the sooner we communicate this discovery to the police the better.  As it is, they say the servants are talking of it; so the present position is quite intolerable.”