I tried a more quiet manner, I tried persuasive arguments, I finally resorted to severity and even threats, but no admission could I get from Louis, except that he had not gone round the house by way of the office.  I was positive the man was lying, and I was equally positive that Miss Lloyd knew he was lying, and that she knew why, but the matter seemed to me at a deadlock.  I could have questioned her, but I preferred to do that when Louis was not present.  If she must suffer ignominy it need not be before a servant.  So I dismissed Louis, perhaps rather curtly, and turning to Miss Lloyd, I asked her if she believed his assertion that he did not pass by the office that night.

“I don’t know what I believe,” she answered, wearily drawing her hand across her brow.  “And I can’t see that it matters anyway.  Supposing he did go by the office, you certainly don’t suspect him of my uncle’s murder, do you?”

“It is my duty, Miss Lloyd,” I said gently, for the girl was pitiably nervous, “to get the testimony of any one who was in or near the office that night.  But of course testimony is useless unless it is true.”

I looked her straight in the eyes as I said this, for I was thoroughly convinced that her own testimony at the inquest had not been entirely true.

I think she understood my glance, for she arose at once, and said with extreme dignity:  “I cannot see any necessity for prolonging this interview, Mr. Burroughs.  It is of course your work to discover the truth or falsity of Louis’s story, but I cannot see that it in any way implicates or even interests me.”

The girl was superb.  Her beauty was enhanced by the sudden spirit she showed, and her flashing dark eyes suggested a baited animal at bay.  Apparently she had reached the limit of her endurance, and was unwilling to be questioned further or drawn into further admissions.  And yet, some inexplicable idea came to me that she was angry, not with me, but with the tangle in which I had remorselessly enmeshed her.  Of a high order of intelligence, she knew perfectly well that I was conscious of the fact that there was a secret of some sort between her and the valet.  Her haughty disdain, I felt sure, was to convey the impression that though there might be a secret between them, it was no collusion or working together, and that though her understanding with the man was mysterious, it was in no way beneath her dignity.  Her imperious air as she quietly left the room thrilled me anew, and I began to think that a woman who could assume the haughty demeanor of an empress might have chosen, as empresses had done before her, to commit crime.

However, she went away, and the dark and stately library seemed to have lost its only spot of light and charm.  I sat for a few minutes pondering over it all, when I saw passing through the hall, the maid, Elsa.  It suddenly occurred to me, that having failed with the mistress of the house, I might succeed better with her maid, so I called the girl in.