She sat for some minutes staring almost vacantly at the marks; one link in the chain alone remained now, and that was the identification of those thumbs. That would not be difficult, she reflected: Fairlie had necessarily to be always handling things. She rose with quick decision—the sooner her task was complete the better—locked away the handkerchief, cleared a drawer, lifted the statuette carefully and placed it in a prone position in the drawer which she locked. Then she went downstairs. In the hall she met Humblethorne, who was holding a telegram in his hand which Birts had just brought him. He wore a look of dissatisfaction in consequence both of an absolutely fruitless search for some further evidence, the shoes for preference, which should establish Philip Castle’s participation in the escape of the murderer, and also of the news he had just heard. The telegram said briefly in official code that John Penterton, carrying a bag, had left his home shortly before Humblethorne’s information had been received and had not returned, destination at present unknown, house would be watched and all steps to trace him followed. Humblethorne glanced at Evelyn without pleasure. Her attitude had puzzled him, and if his evidence had not been so overwhelmingly direct he would have admitted that he felt a real misgiving. People do not say “Well! we know that: what of it?” in a matter of fact tone, in such circumstances as his last meeting with Evelyn, unless they have a reason. Thinking it over, he had been forced reluctantly to the conclusion that, though he could prove John’s secret entry, he could not prove his hand in the murder; he could only throw on John the onus of disproving it. And whatever grounds for suspicion he might have he knew that so far he had found no proof against Philip whatever. He had no doubt in his own mind, but this girl showed up to him fearlessly, almost, he felt, cynically, the weaknesses of his case. “Miss Temple,” he said, as she was passing the two men, “I think you ought to be told a little how the case stands. It will be my duty very shortly to make a very painful communication to Lady Penterton; I think it would be as well if she was prepared. She may see it in the paper at any moment now.” Evelyn shot a keen glance at him and his telegram, and then replied quietly, “It would be foolish of me to pretend I do not understand. Has Mr. Penterton been arrested?” “Not yet,” Humblethorne admitted rather reluctantly. “But it is only a question of a few hours now before he will be.” “Then you have still time to avoid making a mistake publicly,” she replied. “I advise you to use it.” “Your good opinion of your friend’s brother does you credit,” remarked Humblethorne drily; “I regret I cannot share it.” “It is hardly a question of good opinion,” she returned boldly, “but of proof. You know very well that you have none.”