“There is nothing in life for me but the shadow of things—­now,” returned the young man in low tones.  “I want nothing except to find Sisily and prove her innocence.  I’m going to look for her, whatever you say.”

Austin Turold made an impatient gesture.

“Very well,” he said.  “If Providence has made you a fool you must fulfil Providence’s decree.  Only, I warn you, I think you are going the right way to bring trouble on yourself.  That lawyer who was here to-day—­what’s his name, Brimstone, Brimsdown?—­has his suspicions, unless I’m very much mistaken.”

Charles turned pale.  “What makes you think that?” he asked.

“By the way he watched both of us.”

“That accounts for his attitude when I saw him afterwards,” said Charles in a startled voice.

“Afterwards—­where?”

“I went after him to tell him that Sisily was innocent.”

“And what else did you tell him?”

“Nothing but that—­nothing that counted, at least.”

“Really, Charles, your lack of intelligence is a distinct reflection on me as a parent.  Fancy a son of mine trying to make a lawyer’s bowels yearn with compassion!  I’m positively ashamed of you.  Why are you so elementary?  The situation must have contained some elements of humour, though.  I should like to have witnessed it.  Did you call down Heaven’s vengeance on the murderer in approved fashion?  How did the man of parchments take it?”

“You have no heart,” said his son, flushing darkly under this sarcasm.  He walked towards the door as he spoke.  “I am going,” he said.  “There is an excursion train through to Paddington to-night, and I shall catch it.”

“You are determined on it, then?”

“I should be in an unendurable position if I didn’t,” replied the young man, and without another word he left the room.

Austin looked after him a little wistfully, as though remembering that the other was, after all, his son.  He remained motionless for a moment, then crossed over to the window and looked out.  As he stood so his eye was caught by two figures beneath.  One was his son, walking down the garden path.  The other was Mrs. Brierly, returning to the house.  She walked past Charles with downcast eyes, but Austin from the window saw her turn and cast a frightened fluttering glance at the young man’s retreating figure.  She had seen him, then, but did not want to recognize him.  As she hurried up the garden path Austin caught a glimpse of her face, and observed that it was white and drawn.

“What’s the matter with my estimable landlady?” he murmured as he withdrew from the window.

His quick intelligence, playing round this incident and seeking to pierce its meaning, grew alarmed.  There seemed to be a menace in it.  Did she know or guess something of the hidden events of that night, or had she played the spy since?  He turned pale as he considered these possibilities.  Women had an unerring instinct for a secret once their curiosity was aroused.  But he had been careful, very careful.  What did she suspect?