"I don't say you murdered him," protested Woke, soothingly; "but you quarrelled with him, you threatened him, and you were out of doors between nine and ten, during which time he was killed. The position is suspicious--don't be angry, Captain Burton, I am only doing my duty. Of course you can prove an _alibi_." "I can give you my word that I did not see Malet last night. I saw his body after I had been informed of his murder. As to an _alibi_, no one saw me after I left the Rectory, so far as I know. I stood under a tree for a time; then I walked round by Mr. Scarse's cottage." "Had you any particular reason to do so?" Captain Burton flushed and bit his lip. "I could refuse to answer that question," he said at length; "but as you suspect me I will be as candid as possible. I am engaged to Miss Scarse, and I went round with the intention of seeing her on the same matter about which I went to the Rectory. However, I concluded it was too late, so I returned here." "You answer frankly, Captain Burton," said Woke rather disconsolately, "and I say again, I don't accuse you of the crime." Harold bowed ironically. "Have you any idea who committed it? "No," replied Burton, keeping his own counsel, "I have not." Woke rose to go. Then he looked at Harold and hesitated. Finally he spoke in a confidential tone. "Do you know if Mr. Scarse is mad?" was his strange question. Burton suppressed a smile. "Not that I know of," he replied wonderingly. "Why?" "Because he was seen in the village yesterday afternoon with a yard or two of crape around his neck--crape, Captain Burton--a strange material for a scarf!" "Very strange," replied Burton, keeping strict guard on his tongue. He saw that other people besides himself had mistaken the stranger for Scarse; but he did not correct the inspector lest he might say too much. For Brenda's sake it would not do for that subject to be gone into too minutely. "You had better see Mr. Scarse yourself about the matter," said he at length; "he has gone up to town, but may return this evening." Woke nodded and withdrew. He had not gained much by his conversation. Harold was evidently guiltless; or, at all events, there seemed to be no evidence to connect him with the crime. The poor inspector, accustomed to open murders of the poker or hatchet order, was wholly at a loss how to deal with the intricate criminal problem presented to him. He could not find the weapon with which the crime had been committed; he could gain no tangible intelligence likely to fasten the crime on to any one person. At last, utterly perplexed, he took himself off.