"I do love her," cried David, vehemently. "I have always loved her, and shall continue to do so until the day of my death. All the same, I shall never become her husband." "Why?" "For certain reasons!" said Sarby, evasively. "What are those reasons?" "I can't tell you." "Have they anything to do with the death of Maurice?" "Don't ask me, major. I would tell you if I could, but it is impossible." Jen rose to leave the room, more wounded than he chose to confess. "Of course, my boy," he said rather bitterly, "if you choose to withhold your confidence from me, I have no right to force you to speak. All the same as I have been a second father to you, I think you should be more open with me." "I would tell you if I could," said David again, but in rather a sullen manner; "but I have reasons, strong reasons, for not doing so. Later on--" he paused nervously. "Well?" demanded Jen, coldly, seeing the hesitation of the man. "Later on, I may tell you all I know." "All you know!" repeated Jen, in a startled tone. "About this crime?" "Yes. I know something, but what it is I dare not tell you now, Uncle Jen," he added, gravely looking at the elder. "If you are wise, you will not pursue your inquiry." "And why not, may I ask, David?" "Ah!" said Sarby, walking toward the door, "you will know the reason when you learn the truth!" After this enigmatical remark he hurriedly left the room, for the purpose, without doubt, of escaping further questioning. His demeanor completely puzzled Jen, who could not make out the meaning of his conversation. Evidently David knew something which he was unwilling to reveal--something which might lead to the solution of the profound mystery which enwrapped the death of Maurice and the extraordinary disappearance of his body. The more Jen thought about the matter the more perplexed did he become. The recovered devil-stick, found in the grounds of Mrs. Dallas, the saturated handkerchief found in the bedroom of the dead man; and now the unaccountable hints of David that he knew something likely to throw a light upon these mysteries, joined with an equally unaccountable refusal to afford such revelation, all these things puzzled him; but as it was impossible in the absence of actual knowledge, to come to any reasonable decision, Jen determined to see Jaggard and see how he was. If Jaggard could only recover his senses, argued the major, he would be able to say who had stolen the body. Moreover, in Jen's opinion, the person who committed the second crime would most probably, by the force of analogous reasoning, have committed the first.