And there was something in the way he stopped a moment, and then said the "you," as if to mark that though it wasn't her it was somebody. It brought up the thought of Walter with a blow. What did he mean? Mary's smile went, and she said— "I don't understand." "There's one or two things I don't understand neither," says the policeman. "And I've come to you to help me. Maybe you can explain 'em." "I'll try," Mary said; and a fear crept over her mind. Was it Walter— Walter? She kept saying this to herself. "Can you tell me where your brother was the afternoon of the day you came home?" says the policeman. He was very civil and kind all through. He couldn't have been more so, Mary said. There wasn't a rough word. "No," Mary said; and her heart did sink, for she had suspected mischief of some sort all along. "He wasn't here, eh?" says the policeman. Mary never thought of such a thing as shuffling, or trying to put him off. She always was as open as the day. If I had but been the same! Mary would never say a word that wasn't true, to shelter anybody. "No," she said, "he wasn't here! I thought he would be, and I was disappointed. He had gone off for the afternoon." "Gone off where," says the policeman. "I don't know where," says she. "He didn't tell you." "No," says she; "he only told me it was business." "And he didn't let out he'd been to Claxton." Mary gave a regular jump. Somehow she'd never guessed that. "You hadn't heard it," says the policeman. "No," says she, looking quiet still, for all she was upset. "What makes you think he went to Claxton?" "I know he did. He was seen," says the policeman. "What time?" Mary asked. "Just before dark, in a lane near the line." "Near the station?" says Mary; and he nodded. "I can't think why he shouldn't have told me," says Mary, thinking out aloud. "Something he wanted to hide, that's plain," says the policeman. Mary went as white as a sheet. "O no, not Walter! O no, not that!" she cried, and a big sob came from her heart. "He never would! He never could! How dare you say such a thing of my Walter?" The policeman wasn't vexed. "I didn't say it," he answered. "Maybe I didn't think it, either." "But you said—" and Mary stopped. "No," says he, "I didn't say that. If I thought anybody had gone and stolen the watch, my duty 'ud be plain. I shouldn't need to stand talking here." Mary sat down and waited, not speaking a word; and he went on— "I don't say it's that. But I've a notion there's something between Mr. Phrynne's daughter and your brother. I've a notion they both know where the watch and chain are." "Kitty!" says Mary.