"And I hope with all my heart they will be able to get some light out of it," returned Owen, warmly. "I mean to do _my_ best to bring out the mystery, sir; and I sha'n't rest till it's done." His words were fair, his tone was genuine. If it was indeed himself who had been the chief actor in the tragedy, he carried it off well. I hardly knew what to think. It is true I had taken a bit of a fancy to the man, according to my usual propensity to take a fancy, or the contrary; but I did not know much about him, and not anything of his antecedents. As he spoke to me now, his tone was marked, rather peculiar. It gave me a notion that he wanted to say more. "Have you any idea that you will be able to trace it out?" "For my own sake I should like to get the matter cleared up," he added, not directly answering my question. "People are beginning to turn the cold shoulder my way: one woman asked me to my face yesterday whether I did it. No, I told her, I did not do it, but I'd try and find out who did." "You are sure you heard and saw nothing suspicious that night when you rang the bell and could not get in, Owen?" "Not then, sir; no. I saw no light in the house and heard no noise." "You have not any clue to go by, then?" "Not much, sir, yet. But I can't help thinking somebody else has." "Who is that?" "Matilda." "Matilda!" I repeated, in amazement. "Surely you can't suspect that she--that she was a party to any deed so cruel and wicked!" "No, no, sir, I don't mean that; the young women were too good friends to harm one another: and whatever took place, took place while Matilda was out of the house. But I can't help fancying that she knows, or suspects, more of the matter than she will say. In short, that she is screening some one." To me it seemed most unlikely. "Why do you judge so, Owen?" "By her manner, sir. Not by much else. But I'll tell you something that I saw. On the previous Wednesday when I left the afternoon milk at that tall house just beyond Seaboard Terrace, the family lodging there told me to call in the evening for the account, as they were leaving the next day. Accordingly I went; and was kept waiting so long before they paid me that it was all but dark when I came out. Just as I was passing the back door at No. 7, it was suddenly drawn open from the inside, and a man stood in the opening, whispering with one of the girls. She was crying, for I heard her sobs, and he kissed her and came out, and the door was hastily shut. He was an ill-looking man; so far at least as his clothes went; very shabby. His face I did not see, for he pulled his slouching round hat well over his brows as he walked away rapidly, and the black beard he wore covered his mouth and chin." "Which of the maids was it?"