At last she spoke.  The dark lashes slowly raised, and she seemed even more gentle than at first.

“I must tell you,” she said.  “I see I must.  But don’t repeat it, unless it is necessary.  Detectives have to know things, but they don’t have to tell them, do they?”

“We never repeat confidences, Miss Lloyd,” I replied, “except when necessary to further the cause of right and justice.”

“Truly?  Is that so?”

She brightened up so much that I began to hope she had only some trifling matter to tell of.

“Well, then,” she went on, “I will tell you, for I know it need not be repeated in the furtherance of justice.  I did go down to my uncle’s office that night, after Mrs. Pierce had been to my room; and it was I—­it must have been I—­who dropped those rose petals.”

“And left the bag,” I suggested.

“No,” she said, and her face looked perplexed, but not confused.  “No, the bag is not mine, and I did not leave it there.  I know nothing of it, absolutely nothing.  But I did go to the office at about eleven o’clock.  I had a talk with my uncle, and I left him there a half-hour later—­alive and well as when I went in.”

“Was your conversation about your engagement?”

“Yes.”

“Was it amicable?”

“No, it was not!  Uncle Joseph was more angry than I had ever before seen him.  He declared he intended to make a new will the next morning, which would provide only a small income for me.  He said this was not revenge or punishment for my loyalty to Mr. Hall, but—­but—­”

“But what?” I urged gently.

“It scarcely seems loyal to Mr. Hall for me to say it,” she returned, and the tears were in her eyes.  “But this is all confidential.  Well, Uncle Joseph said that Gregory only wanted to marry me for my fortune, and that the new will would prove this.  Of course I denied that Mr. Hall was so mercenary, and then we had a good deal of an altercation.  But it was not very different from many discussions we had had on the same subject, only Uncle was more decided, and said he had asked Mr. Randolph to come the next morning and draw up the new will.  I left him still angry—­he wouldn’t even say good-night to me—­and now I blame myself for not being more gentle, and trying harder to make peace.  But it annoyed me to have him call Gregory mercenary—­”

“Because you knew it was true,” I said quietly.

She turned white to the very lips.  “You are unnecessarily impertinent,” she said.

“I am,” I agreed.  “I beg your pardon.”  But I had discovered that she did realize her lover’s true nature.

“And then you went to your room, and stayed there?” I went on, with a meaning emphasis on the last clause.

“Yes,” she said; “and so, you see, what I have told you casts no light on the mystery.  I only told you so as to explain the bits of the yellow rose.  I feared, from what you said, that Mr. Hall’s name might possibly be brought into discussion.”