Mr. Williams being summoned said that he had no distinct recollection as to the precise time, but that it was certainly somewhat early in the afternoon. He had returned from lunch about two, and it was not for some little time after that that Miss Hawtrey called; he should say it was between three and half past three. 'That will be near enough,' Mr. Hawtrey said. 'You shall hear from me again shortly, Mr. Gilliat; I know that I can rely upon you to say nothing in the meantime to anyone on the subject.' 'Certainly, Mr. Hawtrey.' 'Now, Dorothy, let us be going.' Dorothy at the moment was unable to follow her father; she had sunk down in a chair, pale and trembling; her look of intense surprise had given way to one of alarm and horror, and it was not until she had drunk some water that the jeweller brought her, that she recovered sufficiently to take her father's arm and walk through the shop to the carriage. 'Well, Dorothy,' Mr. Hawtrey said, as they drove off, 'what does all this mean?' 'I have not the least idea, father; I am utterly bewildered.' 'You still say that you did not go to the shop--that you did not examine those tiaras and choose two of them?' 'Of course I say so, father. I have never been in the shop since I went about that pearl. Surely, father, you cannot suspect me of having stolen those things.' 'I am the last man in the world to suspect you of anything dishonourable, Dorothy, but this evidence is staggering. Here are two men ready to swear to the whole particulars of the incident. They are both sufficiently acquainted with your appearance to be able to recognise you readily. They can even swear to your dress. That you should do such a thing seems to be incredible and impossible, but what am I to think? You could not have done such a thing in your senses; it would be the act of a madwoman, especially to go to a shop where you are so well known.' 'But why should I have done it, father? I could not have worn them without being detected at once.' 'You could not have worn them,' her father agreed, 'but they might have been turned into money had you great occasion for it.' Dorothy started. 'Do you mean, father--oh, surely, you never can mean that I could have stolen those things to turn them into money in order to satisfy the man who has been writing those letters?' 'No, my dear. I don't mean that myself, but that is certainly what anyone who did not know you would say. There, don't cry so, child,' for Dorothy was sobbing hysterically now; 'do not let us talk any more until we get home. We have got the day and hour at which you were supposed to have been at Gilliat's. Perhaps we may be able to prove that you were engaged somewhere else, and that it was impossible you could have been at Gilliat's about that time.' Nothing more was said until they reached home.