Dick's heart sank within him. This plausible chain of circumstance fitted the theory that Reginald was the murderer. Horrible! Most horrible! And Florence loved this guilty man. He it was who was responsible for her flight from her peaceful, happy home; he it was who, for some sinister reason, had imposed secrecy upon her! It seemed to Dick as if he held the fate of Florence's lover in his hands. He returned the second key to its place at the head of the bed, and mechanically--but yet in pursuance of some immature thought--put the key he had found on the mat into his pocket. Then he quitted the room of death, and closing the door, sank into a chair, and rested his head on his hand. How should he act? What clear line of action did his duty point out to him? His duty! What if in pursuance of this moral obligation he wrecked Florence's life, and brought upon her despair so poignant as to drive her to her grave? No, a thousand times, no! Anything but that. Why should it be incumbent upon him to proclaim the murder? Let others do it. But even then, would that save Reginald? The finger of suspicion would be pointed at him, and a clever lawyer would wind around him a chain of circumstantial evidence so firm and strong that it would be impossible for him to break through it. What were the links in this chain? The quarrel between father and son some time since, which ended in Reginald being turned out of the house, with the stern injunction never to enter it again. Proof would surely be discovered to establish this, and it would be vain for Reginald to deny it. Reginald's first visit to the house in Catchpole Square on the evening of the 1st of March. Abel Death had disappeared, but Mrs. Death was alive to testify to the fact. In this connection the pitiful image of little Gracie presented itself to Dick's mind, and he heard her plaintive appeal, "You _will_ find father, won't you?" He had been anxious to do this, but he recognised now that Abel Death's appearance in court might be fatal to Reginald. The next link was Reginald's second visit to Catchpole Square an hour or so before midnight, admitting himself to the house on that occasion, as on the first, with his own private latchkey. Who was to prove this? Remote as the Square was from public observation there was little doubt that Reginald had entered unseen. No witness existed, except Reginald himself, who could state what took place on this second visit, but it was a strong link in the chain that he had "come down in the world," and was in need for money.