“Impossible!” cried Lord Towyn, turning pale. “I will stake my very soul on Miss Wynde’s courage, and her fidelity to me. No personal fears, no cruelty even, could drive her into accepting Rufus Black. I know her brave and glorious nature; I know that she could never know a moment of weakness or yielding. The cabman has deceived you, Ryan.” “No, my lord,” said the detective doggedly. “I’ll stake anything your lordship likes on his good faith. Rufus Black hung over the lady as if the ground wasn’t good enough for her to walk on, and she smiled up at him as loving as--as a basket of chips,” said Ryan, at fault for a simile, and concluding his comparison rather ignominiously. “The lady saw cabby, and says she, blushing and smiling, ‘The gentleman will stay to dinner, and you can put up your horses in the stable,’ says she, ‘and go into the servants’ hall and get a glass of ale and your dinner.’ And cabby put up his horses, and went into the kitchen.” “A queer story,” muttered Atkins. “Perhaps Miss Wynde was playing a part--pretending to love Rufus Black in order to throw her jailers off their guard, and so obtain a chance of escape?” The young earl’s face now flushed. “I can’t understand it,” he said. “It is not like Miss Wynde to play such a part, even to effect her escape from her enemies. She is truth incarnate. She could never summon to her lips those false smiles; she could never for one moment allow Rufus Black to consider himself her favored lover.” “The earl is right,” said Sir Harold. “Neva could never play such a part. She is too truthful and straightforward.” The detective bent another quick glance at the baronet. “Did the cabman make any further discoveries?” inquired Atkins. “One or two, of some importance,” said Ryan. “In the first place, there were too few servants for so grand a house. In the second place, the young lady, with an older woman, had come up here within a week. In the third place, the house-maid said that her young mistress was called Miss Wroat, but that that was not her real name, for the young gentleman had asked for her by another name. And altogether, an air of mystery seems to hang about the young lady. But the fact of the most importance of all is, that on the way home from Heather Hills last night, young Black got up on the box with the cabby, and asked him no end of questions about the Scotch laws concerning marriage--if licenses were necessary, if publication of banns was usual, and so on. And the young man asked him which was the best church to step into for a quiet, informal marriage, without license or publication of banns, but the marriage to be perfectly legal and binding.” “Ah!” said Atkins. “That begins to look as if he meant business.”