the crime, there are bound to be some disclosures and the newspapers would make the most of them.  It is impossible to foresee the exact nature of them, but I do not see how I could adopt any line of defence which would not hint at things that are best unrevealed.  You yourself might be so ill-advised as to tell the whole story in the end.  Of course, I would try to prevent you, and as far as the trial is concerned, I think I could use means to prevent you.  But if the result was unfavourable—­and knowing what eccentric things juries do, we must recognise the possibility of an unfavourable verdict—­you might consider it advisable to disclose everything in the hope of having the conviction quashed by an appeal.”

For the first time since she had sat down he looked at her, and as he caught her upward gaze he flushed.

“I would tell everything if you were arrested,” she said, in a low voice.

“Ah, so I thought,” he said, in a tone of disapproval.  “The question now is what means can be adopted to prevent a catastrophe.  I have thought earnestly about it, and as you are almost as much concerned in preventing public disclosures as I am, I desired to consult you before taking any definite course.  It is this man Crewe who is the danger, and the question is how are we to stop him proceeding to extremes.  One way is for me to see him and take him into my confidence—­to explain fully to him what happened.  He would not be satisfied with less than the full story.  If I kept anything back his suspicions would remain; in fact, they would be strengthened.  I would have to explain to him why and how I induced Sir Horace to return unexpectedly from Scotland on that fatal night, and what took place at Riversbrook.  You will understand why I have hesitated to adopt that course.  I would not suggest it to you now except that I see it would save you from the danger of something a great deal worse.  Of course it would save me from the annoyance of being suspected of knowing something about the actual murder, but it is your interests that come first in the matter.  It would be effective in putting an end to all our fears—­all my fears.  I would bind him to secrecy, of course.  I do not ask you to come to a decision immediately, but I do ask you to think it over and let me know.  I have been extremely reluctant to put this proposal before you, because I should hate carrying it out, because I should hate telling this man of things which are really no concern of anyone but ourselves.  But I cannot disguise from myself that it would remove a greater danger.  I believe the secret would be safe with him.  I understand that in private life he is a gentleman, and that I would be safe in taking his word of honour.  It would not be necessary for him to tell the police—­still less to tell Miss Fewbanks.”

“Is there no other way?” she asked.  “Have you thought of any other way?”