Even her voice had gone. She spoke hoarsely, and as though short of breath. Her eyes searched his face feverishly. It seemed cruelty not to answer her at once, and Peter Ruff was not a cruel man. Nevertheless, he remained silent, and it seemed to her that his eyes were like points of fire upon her face. “What is the matter?” she cried, with breaking voice. “What have you come for? Why don’t you speak to me?” “Madam,” Peter Ruff said, “I should like to help you, and I will do what I can. But in order that I may do so, it is necessary that you should answer me two questions--truthfully!” Her eyes grew wider. It was the face of a terrified child. “Why not?” she exclaimed. “What have I to conceal?” Peter Ruff’s expression never changed. There was nothing about him, as he stood there with his hands behind him, his head thrown a little forward, in the least inspiring--nothing calculated to terrify the most timid person. Yet the girl looked at him with the eyes of a frightened bird. “Remember, then,” he continued, smoothly, “that what you say to me is sacred. You and I are alone without witnesses or eavesdroppers. Was it Brian Sotherst who shot Abbott--or was it you?” She gave a little cry. Her hands clasped the sides of her head in horror. “I!” she exclaimed, “I! God help me!” He waited. In a moment she looked up. “You cannot believe that,” she said, with a calmness for which he was scarcely prepared. “It is absurd. I left the room by the inner door as he took up his hat to step out into the hall.” “Incidentally,” he asked--“this is not my other question, mind--why did you not let him out yourself?” “We had disagreed,” she answered, curtly. Peter Ruff bent his head in assent. “I see,” he remarked. “You had disagreed. Abbott probably hoped that you would relent, so he waited for a few minutes. Brian Sotherst, who had escaped from his engagement in time, he thought, to come and wish you good night, must have walked in and found him there. By the bye, how would Captain Sotherst get in?” “He had a key,” the girl answered. “My mother lives here with me, and we have only one maid. It was more convenient. I gave him one washed in gold for a birthday present only a few days ago.” “Thank you,” Peter Ruff said. “The revolver, I understand, was your property?” She nodded. “It was a present from Brian,” she said. “He gave it to me in a joke, and I had it on the table with some other curiosities.” “The first question,” Peter Ruff said, “is disposed of. May I proceed to the second?” The girl moistened her lips. “Yes!” she answered. “Why did you sup alone with Austen Abbott last night?” She shrank a little away. “Why should I not?” she asked. “You have been on the stage, my dear Miss Shaw,” Peter Ruff continued, “for between four and five years. During the whole of that time, it has been your very wise habit to join supper parties, of course, when the company was agreeable to you, but to sup alone with no man! Am I not right?”