He found difficulty in suppressing a grim smile. Everything was all right now, was it, and he could run away home? He did not agree with Mrs. Jones. “Yes,” she replied. “It was very kind of you to come, but—” “Wait!” cried Ross, for she had turned away toward the sofa. Without so much as turning her head, she went on a few steps, took the knitted scarf from her shoulders, and threw it over the end of the sofa. And he saw then that just the tip of the man’s fingers had been visible, and that the trailing end of the scarf covered them now. She _knew_! “Well?” she asked, looking inquiringly at him through her spectacles. No; it was impossible; the whole thing was utterly impossible! This sedate, respectable, gray-haired woman, this housekeeper who looked as if she would not overlook the smallest trace of dust in a corner, certainly, surely would not leave a dead man under her sofa. She was stroking the cat, and the animal had assumed an expression of idiotic delight, pink tongue protruding a little, eyes half open. Would even a cat be so monstrously indifferent if—if what he thought he had seen under the sofa were really there? “Would you like me to telephone for a taxi to take you to the station?” asked Mrs. Jones, very civilly. “Ha!” thought Ross. “You want to get rid of me, don’t you?” And that aroused all his stiff-necked obstinacy. He would _not_ go away now, after all his trouble, without any sort of explanation of the situation. “There’s a good train—” Mrs. Jones began, with calm persistence, but Ross interrupted. “No, thanks,” he said. “I’d like to see Miss Solway first.” His own words surprised him a little. After all, why on earth should he want to see this Miss Solway? A few hours ago he had been greatly annoyed at the thought of having to do so; he would have been only too glad never to see or to hear of her again. “It’s because I don’t like being made such a fool of,” he thought. For the first time since she had entered the room, Mrs. Jones’s calm was disturbed. She came nearer to him, and looked into his face with obvious anxiety, speaking very low, and far more respectfully. “It would be much better not to!” she said. “Much better, sir, if you’ll just go away—” “I want to see Miss Solway,” Ross repeated. “There’s been a mistake, and I want to explain.” “I know that, sir!” she whispered. “Of course, as soon as I saw you, I knew you weren’t Mr. Ross. But—” “Look here!” said Ross, bluntly. “What’s it all about, anyhow?” “There was a little difficulty, sir,” said Mrs. Jones, still in a whisper. “But it’s all over now.” All over now? A new thought came to Ross. Had the man under the sofa been Miss Solway’s “terrible trouble,” and had Cousin James been sent for to help—in doing what had already been done?