It was a long time before either Miss Trask or Nash spoke again. The girl was sitting, wet-eyed and silent, in the chair, the book open upon her lap. Nash had walked to the window, and stood gazing out upon the road, which, under the magic of the moonlight, wound along the slope like a wide, silver ribbon. The notes of a song came faintly through the still night air; in a neighboring cabin some of the men were making merry. The words were silly and meaningless, the tune of a dance-hall variety. Yet both the girl and Nash waited until the song was finished. Then resolutely Nash turned. “How long have you been here, Miss Trask?” “In California? Only a few months. I--I came from New York immediately after my brother was buried. I had given him this book only at Christmas. Out of all his effects--I kept it. I was living at a little hotel near Central Park, and used to go over and pass away the hours reading. I suppose I dropped it--and that man who spoke to you must have picked it up.” “What led you to take up--this work?” Nash asked. “I--don’t know. Maybe it was because--because I had hopes of finding my brother’s murderer.” “You knew him?” She shook her head. “No. Oh, I hadn’t any set plan. I just imagined, somehow, that on this great engineering project I might come face to face with the man who----” “And if you had?” Nash interrupted. A quick, hard light flamed to her eyes, only to die away as suddenly as it had come. “I don’t know,” she faltered. “I am only a woman, and----” “Did it ever occur to you, Miss Trask,” Nash ventured to ask, “that your brother might have been as much to blame as--the other man?” “But--but he was my brother,” she replied. “Of course.” Nash smiled faintly. “A year ago, Miss Trask, I worked on the New York Aqueduct.” “You?” She raised her eyes quickly. “Then maybe you knew----” “Your brother?” Nash nodded. “Yes, I knew him.” “And you knew about--about his death? You have heard how a man shot him, and----” “I did not know of his death,” Nash answered gravely. “That is, I was not positive.” She was facing him now. “How strangely you talk, Mr. Nash!” “Possibly it is because I am placed in a strange position,” Nash replied. She started to speak, then stopped. The chugging of a motor interrupted, and instinctively both man and woman understood. Nash stepped swiftly to the window. The flashing lights of a big car were dancing down the road. “It--it’s the officers!” the girl exclaimed. She had followed the engineer, and was peering over his shoulder. “I’m afraid so,” Nash responded. “They’ve come to-night--instead of in the morning. They must have suspected you would try to escape.” Nash dropped the curtain and went back to the table. “It’s too--too late for you to get away now,” she stammered, breathing hard. “What--what are you going to do?” “That isn’t the question which troubles me,” Nash said quietly. “How are you to explain your presence here?” “I won’t need to,” she retorted.