"I suppose I shouldn't have mentioned it," Lyttleton said blandly, looking Sally straight in the face. "But the circumstances were peculiar, to say the least, if not incriminating. I saw this cloaked figure from my window. I thought its actions suspicious. I dressed hurriedly and ran down in time to intercept Miss Manwaring at an appointment with a strange man. I didn't see his face. He turned and ran. While I was questioning Miss Manwaring Mr. Trego came up and misconstrued the situation. We had a bit of a row, and before it was cleared up Miss Manwaring had escaped." Sally's sole comment was an "Oh!" that quivered with its burden of loathing. "Sorry," Lyttleton finished cheerfully; "but I felt I had to mention it. I dare say the matter was innocent enough, but still Miss Manwaring hasn't explained it, so far as I know; I felt it my duty to speak." To the inquiring attitude of the detective Sally responded simply: "Find Mrs. Gosnold." "Yes, miss," he returned with the obstinacy of a slow-witted man. "Meantime, I guess you won't mind my looking round a bit, will you?" "Looking round?" "Your room, miss." Sally gasped. "You have the insolence to suggest searching my room?" "Well, miss--" "I forbid you positively to do anything of sort without Mrs. Gosnold's permission." "There!" Miss Pride interpolated with sour satisfaction. "If she has nothing to fear, why should she object?" "Do be quiet, Mercedes," Mrs. Standish advised sweetly. "Miss Manwaring is quite right to object, even if innocent." "You see, miss," Mason persisted, "I have Mrs. Gosnold's authority to make such investigation as I see fit." "I forbid you to touch anything in this room." "I'm sorry. I'd rather not. But it looks to me like my duty." She perceived at length that he was stubbornly bent on this outrageous thing. For a breath she contemplated dashing madly from the place, seeking Trego, and demanding his protection. But immediately, with a sharp pang, she was reminded that she might no longer depend even on Trego. As the detective tentatively approached her dressing-table the girl swung a wicker armchair about so that it faced a corner of the room and threw herself angrily into it, her back to the four. Immediately, as if nothing but her eye had prevented it theretofore, the search was instituted. She heard drawers opened and closed, sounds of rummaging. She trembled violently with impotent exasperation. It was intolerable, yet it must be endured. There was one satisfaction: they would find nothing, and presently Mrs. Gosnold would reappear and their insolence be properly punished. She could not believe that Mrs. Gosnold would let it pass unrebuked. And yet . . . Of a sudden it was borne in upon the girl that she had found this little island world a heartless, selfish place, that she had yet to meet one of its inhabitants by whom her faith and affection had not been betrayed, deceived and despised.