Miss Vale elevated her brows in surprise; her attitude was one of wonderment.

“I don’t think I understand.”

“And you did not seem to understand yesterday when I called upon you.  You fancied that I was not sure that I had seen you, and had come expecting you to admit the visit to Locke.  And as I went away, you also fancied that you had thrown me off the scent.”  He smiled at the recollection, in spite of his evident resentment of her position.  “But the fact of the matter was that I knew your fiance had been the cause of your visit to the mute.  You had seen Morris, you knew where he was, and I thought it would be a useful thing for me to be also acquainted with his whereabouts.”

“But,” protested Miss Vale in a faint voice, but still acting her chosen role to the best of her gifts, “if I had known and desired to conceal his whereabouts, surely you did not expect me to tell you of it.”

“Not directly.  But, if you remember, I dropped a hint that his hiding-place was about to be discovered.  This was true; you were about to disclose it.  I had only to wait and follow as you rushed off to warn him.”

She leaned back in her chair and regarded him strangely, but he proceeded with evenness: 

“Your work upon the road was very clever; I congratulate you upon it.  But it was scarcely sufficiently inspired to deceive an old hand.”

Here he waited, apparently expecting her to speak.  But as she did not take advantage of the pause, he went on: 

“I called this morning to acquaint you with these things and to advise you on your future course.  I must admit that I rather admire your steadfastness in following out what Allan Morris has desired of you; however, it is a great mistake for a strong nature to submit to the clamorings of a weaker one.”

She sat suddenly erect; protest was in her eyes, and one hand went up in denial.  But, though her lips opened as though she were about to speak, no words came; once more she sank back in the chair with the air of one compelled to admit a bitter truth.

“I am not so sure as to how deep Morris is in this murder,” continued the investigator, “but I have some ideas on the subject.  On the other hand I am quite sure that you are promised to aid him, and that you feel duty bound to do so to the end, according to his not very wise instructions.”

He arose and stood looking down at her kindly.

“My advice to you,” he went on—­“and I speak with a fair knowledge of the facts—­is that you do nothing more.  Be content with what you have attempted; allow me to act for you in anything further which you have in mind.  Or, if you cannot give me your confidence, let me carry the thing on in my own way, as you proposed at the first.”

There was a pause of some length; then the girl spoke.

“I am just a trifle bewildered at all this,” she said; “and I really cannot say, Mr. Ashton-Kirk, that I altogether follow you.”