As she stood in the queue of rather rough North-country folk, waiting to take her third-class ticket, there swept over her a sudden, vivid recollection of that incident--the hearing of a voice which at the time had seemed so oddly familiar--which had happened on the day she had parted from Godfrey Pavely for the last time. And then--as in a blinding, yet illuminating flash--there came to her the conviction, nay, more, the certain knowledge, as to whose voice it had been that she had heard on the last occasion when she had stood there, in the large, bare booking office. The voice she had heard--she was quite, _quite_ sure of it now, it admitted of no doubt in her mind at all--had been the peculiar, rather high-pitched, voice of Gillie Baynton.... She visualised the arresting appearance of the man who had been the owner of the voice, and who had gazed at her with that rather impudent, jeering glance of bold admiration. Of course it was Gillie, but Gillie disguised--Gillie with his cheeks tinted a curious greenish-orange colour, Gillie with his fair hair dyed black, Gillie--her brain suddenly supplied the link she was seeking for feverishly--_exactly answering to the description of the sinister Fernando Apra--the self-confessed murderer of Godfrey Pavely_. Katty left the queue in which she was standing, and walked across to a bench. There she sat down, and, heedless of the people about her, put her chin on her hand and stared before her. What did her new knowledge portend? What did it lead to? Was Laura associated with this extraordinary, bewildering discovery of hers? But the questions she put to herself remained unanswered. She failed to unravel even a little strand of the tangled skein. Slowly she got up again, and once more took her place in the queue outside the booking office. It would be folly to lose her train because of this discovery, astounding, illuminating, as it was. She was so shaken, so excited, that she longed to confide in one of the Haworths, brother or sister, to whose house she was going--but some deep, secretive instinct caused her to refrain from doing that. Still, she was so far unlike herself, that after her arrival the members of the merry party all commented to one another on the change they saw in her. "She's as pretty as ever," summed up one of them at last, "but somehow she looks different." All that night Katty lay awake, thinking, thinking--trying to put together a human puzzle of which the pieces would not fit. Gillie Baynton, even if he disliked his brother-in-law, had no motive for doing the awful thing she was now beginning to suspect he had done. She found herself floating about in a chartless sea of conjectures, of suspicions.... She felt better, more in possession of herself, the next morning. Yet she was still oppressed with an awful sense of bewilderment and horror, uncertain, too, as to what use she could make of her new knowledge.