There was no doubt about the apprehension in her eye now. For a moment it seemed to wonder whether he was actually in earnest, and then to decide that he was. "I--I don't know who told me," she said in an altered voice. "Did anybody tell you, or did you make it up?" "I never actually said they were engaged." He looked at her in silence and very hard, and then he spoke deliberately. "I won't ask you why you deceived me, Lilian, but it was a low down trick to play on me, and it has turned out to be a damned cruel trick to play on that girl. I mentioned the engagement as a mere matter of course to somebody, and though I mentioned it confidentially, it started this slander about Malcolm Cromarty and Cicely Farmond conspiring to murder--to _murder_, Lilian!--the man of all men they owed most to. That's what you've done!" By this time Lilian Cromarty's handkerchief was at her eyes. "I--I am very sorry, Ned," she murmured. But he was not to be soothed by a tear, even in the most adroit lady's eye. "The latest consequence has been," he said sternly, "that through a mixture of persecution and bad advice she has been driven to run away. Luckily I spotted her at the start and fetched her back, and I've told her that if there is the least little bit more trouble she is to come straight here and that you will give her as good a welcome as I shall. Is that quite clear?" "Yes," she murmured through her handkerchief. "Otherwise," said he, "there's no room for us both here. One single suggestion that she isn't welcome--and you have full warning now of the consequences!" "When is she coming?" she asked in an uncertain voice. "When? Possibly never. But there's some very fishy--and it looks to me, some very dirty business going on, and this port stands open in case of a storm. You fully understand?" "Of course I do," she said, putting away her handkerchief. "I'm not quite a fool!" And indeed, none of her friends or acquaintances had ever made that accusation against Lilian Cromarty. "Well, that's all," said Ned, and began to move across the room. But now the instinct for finding a scapegoat began to revive. "Who did you tell it to, Ned?" she asked. "Simon Rattar." "Then _he_ has spread this dreadful story!" she exclaimed with righteous indignation. Her brother stopped and slowly turned back. "By heaven, I've scarcely had time to think it all out yet--but it looks like it!" "It _must_ be that nasty grumpy old creature! If you told nobody else--well, it can't be anybody else!" "But why should he go and spread such a story?" "Because he wants to shelter some one else!" "Who?" "Ah, that's for the police to find out. But I'm quite certain, Ned, that that pig-headed old Simon with his cod-fish eyes and his everlasting grunt is at the bottom of it all!" He stared thoughtfully into space.