I gazed at her lovely face, knowing that when her eyes opened I must discreetly turn my glance aside, but blessing every instant of opportunity thus given me.

Her countenance, though troubled and drawn with anxiety, was so pure and sweet that I felt sure of her innocence.  But it should be my work to prove that to the world.

Suddenly her eyes flashed open; again her mood had changed.

“Mr. Burroughs,” she said, and there was almost a challenge in her tone, “why do you ask me these things?  You are a detective, you are here to find out for yourself, not to ask others to find out.  I am innocent of my uncle’s death, of course, but when you cast suspicion on the man to whom I am betrothed, you cannot expect me to help you confirm that suspicion.  You have made me think by your remark about a man on a late train that you refer to Mr. Hall.  Do you?”

This was a change of base, indeed.  I was being questioned instead of doing the catechising myself.  Very well; if it were my lady’s will to challenge me, I would meet her on her own ground.

“You took the hint very quickly,” I said.  “Had you thought of such a possibility before?”

“No, nor do I now.  I will not.”  Again she was the offended queen.  “But since you have breathed the suggestion, you may not count on any help from me.”

“Could you have helped me otherwise?” I said, detaining her as she swept by.

To this she made no answer, but again her face wore a troubled expression, and as she went slowly from the room, she left me with a strong conviction that she knew far more about Gregory Hall’s connection with the matter than she had told me.

I sat alone for a few moments wondering what I had better do next.

I had about decided to go in search of Parmalee, and talk things over with him, but I thought it would be better to see Louis first, and settle up the matter of his rose more definitely.  Accordingly I rang the bell, and when the parlor maid answered it, I asked her to send both Louis and Elsa to me in the library.

I could see at once that these two were not friendly toward each other, and I hoped this fact would aid me in learning the truth from them.

“Now, Louis,” I began, “you may as well tell me the truth about your home coming last Tuesday night.  In the first place, you must admit that you were wearing in your coat one of the yellow roses which had been sent to Miss Lloyd.”

“No, no, indeed!” declared Louis, giving Elsa a threatening glance, as if forbidding her to contradict him.

“Nonsense, man,” I said; “don’t stand there and tell useless lies.  It will not help you.  The best thing you can do for yourself and for all concerned is to tell the truth.  And, moreover, if you don’t tell it to me now, you will have to tell it to Mr. Goodrich, later.  Elsa gave you a yellow rose and you wore it away that evening when you went to see your young lady.  Now what became of that rose?”