“But think of all the array of evidence he has.”

“Enough, and more than enough, I admit, to warrant everything he has thought or said of the man; but—­”

“He simply puts it this way.  If he be guilty, can she be less?  Is it possible, Armitage, that you are unconvinced?”

“Certainly I am unconvinced.  The matter has not yet been sifted.  As I understand it, you have forbidden his confronting Jerrold with the proofs of his rascality until I get there.  Admitting the evidence of the ladder, the picture, and the form at the window,—­ay, the letter, too,—­I am yet to be convinced of one thing.  You must remember that his judgment is biassed by his early experiences.  He fancies, that no woman is proof against such fascinations as Jerrold’s.”

“And your belief?”

“Is that some women—­many women—­are utterly above such a possibility.”

Old Maynard wrung his comrade’s hand.  “You make me hope in spite of myself,—­my past experiences,—­my very senses, Armitage.  I have leaned on you so many years that I missed you sorely when this trial came.  If you had been there, things might not have taken this shape.  He looks upon Chester—­and it’s one thing Chester hasn’t forgiven in him—­as a meddling old granny; you remember the time he so spoke of him last year; but he holds you in respect, or is afraid of you,—­which in a man of his calibre is about the same thing.  It may not be too late for you to act.  Then when he is disposed of once and for all, I can know what must be done—­where she is concerned.”

“And under no circumstances can you question Mrs. Maynard?”

“No! no!  If she suspected anything of this it would kill her.  In any event, she must have no suspicion of it now.”

“But does she not ask?  Has she no theory about the missing photograph?  Surely she must marvel over its disappearance.”

“She does; at least, she did; but—­I’m ashamed to own it, Armitage—­we had to quiet her natural suspicions in some way, and I told her that it was my doing,—­that I took it to tease Alice, put the photograph in the drawer of my desk, and hid the frame behind her sofa-pillow.  Chester knows of the arrangement, and we had settled that when the picture was recovered from Mr. Jerrold he would send it to me.”

Armitage was silent.  A frown settled on his forehead, and it was evident that the statement was far from welcome to him.  Presently he held forth his hand.

“Well, good-night, sir.  I must go and have a quiet think over this.  I hope you will rest well.  You need it, colonel.”