“Why, he was not in West Sedgwick that night,” I said.

“Where was he?” she countered quickly.

“I don’t know.  He refuses to tell.  Of course you must see that his absolute refusal to tell where he was that night is, to say the least, an unwise proceeding.”

“He won’t even tell me where he was,” she said, sighing.  “But it doesn’t matter.  He wasn’t here.”

“That’s just it,” I rejoined.  “If he was not here, it would be far better for him to tell where he really was.  For the refusal to tell raises a question that will not be downed, except by an alibi.  I don’t want to be cruel, Miss Lloyd, but I must make you see that as the inquiry proceeds, the actions of both Mr. Hall and yourself will be subjected to very close scrutiny, and though perhaps undue attention will be paid to trifles, yet the trifles must be explained.”

I was so sorry for the girl, that, in my effort not to divulge my too great sympathy, I probably used a sterner tone than I realized.

At any rate, I had wakened her at last to a sense of the danger that threatened her and her lover, and now, if she would let me, I would do all in my power to save them both.  But I must know all she could tell me.

“When did Mr. Hall leave you?” I asked.

“You mean the day—­last Tuesday?”

“Yes?”

“He left here about half-past five.  He had been in the office with Uncle Joseph all the afternoon, and at five o’clock he came in here for a cup of tea with me.  He almost always comes in at tea-time.  Then he left about half-past five, saying he was going to New York on the six o’clock train.”

“For what purpose?”

“I never ask him questions like that.  I knew he was to attend to some business for Uncle the next day, but I never ask him what he does evenings when he is in the city, or at any time when he is not with me.”

“But surely one might ask such questions of the man to whom she is betrothed.”

Miss Lloyd again put on that little air of hauteur which always effectually stopped my “impertinence.”

“It is not my habit,” she said.  “What Gregory wishes me to know he tells me of his own accord.”

XIV

MR. PORTER’S VIEWS

I began on a new tack.

“Miss Lloyd, why did you tell an untruth, and say you did not come down-stairs again, after going up at ten o’clock?”

Her hauteur disappeared.  A frightened, appealing look came into her eyes, and she looked to me like a lovely child afraid of unseen dangers.

“I was afraid,” she confessed.  “Yes, truly, I was afraid that they would think I had something to do with the—­with Uncle Joseph’s death.  And as I didn’t think it could do any good to tell of my little visit to him, I just said I didn’t come down.  Oh, I know it was a lie—­I know it was wicked—­but I was so frightened, and it was such an easy way out of it, just to deny it.”