Inspector Harlow having gone, with Mr. Parker as close companion, the lovers being again alone together, it was pretty plain that they were conscious that, since entering the house, the situation had materially changed. Rodney, try how he might, could not erase from his mind, so quickly as he wished, the impression that he had been assisting at some hideous nightmare. He had supposed, at the sight of the little man, that his accuser had come into the room. His nerves were strained in the expectation that every moment the charge would be made. Even as the instants passed, and he began to see the drift of the tale which the man was telling, inventing it as he went on, he had a feeling that he was only playing with him as a cat does with a mouse, and that, just when it seemed least likely, he would right-about-face and, perhaps with that diabolical snigger of his, place the onus of the guilt on him. Now that the fellow had actually gone, a self-accused prisoner in the inspector's charge, the feeling that he was still taking part in some fantastic drama seemed stronger than ever. Gladys, on her side, when at last she broke the curious silence, which prevailed longer than either of them supposed after they had been left together, quickly showed that she was obsessed by a mood in which he did not know her, in which, as it were, she had slipped out of his reach. "Rodney, do you think that what that man said is true?" "He seemed to give chapter and verse for most of it." "But if it's true--dad didn't take his own life!" "If it's true." "But don't you see what a difference that makes?" "Of course it makes a difference; but in what sense do you mean?" "In every sense--every sense! Do you think--that while he's being buried--I should be here--if I had known that he was murdered? He was my father." "In any case he was that." "Not in any case, not in any case! I may have got him all wrong! I may have misjudged! I may--I don't know what I mayn't have done. There's the letter!" "What letter?" "To Mr. Wilkes. You said, when he wrote it, he was mad, and that taking his own life proved it. I thought so. But, if he didn't take his own life, what then?" Rodney made an effort to regain his self-possession, and partially succeeded. "My dear Gladys, the whole business is a bad one, whichever way you look at it. We are to be married on Monday." "Monday? Married--to you?" The knowledge of women on which he was apt to pride himself ought to have warned him that this was not the same girl as the one with whom he had come back from lunch in the cab. But at the moment he was not yet quite himself; his perception was at fault. He made a mistake.