Evelyn did not go downstairs again that evening; nor did she make any attempt to see Celia. She sent word that she was worn out, would just like some dinner brought her, and did not wish otherwise to be disturbed. She was very tired physically; mentally she was strained and harassed whichever way her thoughts turned. For some hours she tossed restlessly in the vain attempt to escape from them; several times she made up her mind to have nothing further to do with investigations. Each time she had played detective her reason had demanded of her more than her heart could yield. But she was in the grip of her mind; it would not let her leave bad alone, and always she continued to hope, to try and force herself to believe that, if she only had eyes to see it, some other and less terrible solution lay before her. Already she had come upon two almost irreconcilable sets of facts. It was possible that John had been let in that night by Celia—she remembered that Celia had gone up early, pleading headache, and had said good-night, telling her not to come in again—but it did not seem possible that after the tragedy Celia could have let John out and then laid a false trail: it asked for greater resolution and coolness than Evelyn had ever seen Celia show. Evelyn taxed her memory to recall exactly how Celia had looked and spoken when she broke the news to her. She had been, it seemed looking back, fearful, apprehensive; she had known something, enough to be afraid, not enough to know of what to be afraid. Yet John had been let out, the window had been barred, a false trail had been laid—by whom? Evelyn’s mind swung back in spite of her utmost resistance to the one other person who had admittedly been awake, Philip Castle. Suddenly she felt the whole truth was laid before her. Celia had known that John was coming that night to see his father—perhaps she had arranged it, hoping against hope no doubt that Sir Roger would find it at last in his heart to forgive—there had been a quarrel, John had killed his father, accidentally she was sure, and Philip—it was Philip who was doing all he could to screen him. At last on this thought, much less terrible than any yet she had found, she fell asleep.