"Yes," I assented heartily. "Undoubtedly you have the right to know it. There we're on solid ground. Well, that point is settled, then. And now I must ask you another question, Mr. Curtiss, which you may resent, but which it is absolutely necessary I should ask if I'm to be of any help to you." "I think I can guess what it is, Mr. Lester," and he smiled grimly. "Since Marcia disappeared, I've reviewed carefully my whole past life, and I can find nothing in it which would justify, in the slightest degree, such an action. I've not been a saint, but at least I've never been dishonourable nor dissolute. Does that answer the question?" "Perfectly," I said. There could be no doubting his utter truthfulness. "And your family history?" "Is neither long nor brilliant. My father and mother both died when I was a baby. I was raised by my grandparents." "They lived in New York?" "No; on Long Island. My grandfather's name was John Curtiss. He managed an estate belonging to a New York banker. He was an honest and honourable man." "And he is dead?" "Yes; he and his wife have been dead ten years and more." "You have no brothers or sisters?" "No; nor any other near relatives." That was the end of that theory, then. If the secret did not concern Curtiss, it must concern Miss Lawrence herself. More and more I felt that she was the victim of a plot. Of the maid's complicity, I had not the shadow of a doubt--but was Mrs. Lawrence a party to it, too? I turned back to her. She was, apparently, so busy with her own thoughts that she paid no heed to what was passing. How explain her calmness, her lack of interest? How, except on the theory that she knew where her daughter was, had assisted in her disappearance and approved of it? I felt my blood warm suddenly in Curtiss's behalf. If he had been the victim of an adventuress, it should be my business to expose her! But a second glance at Mrs. Lawrence's face showed me the folly of such a thought. She was no adventuress--she was a gentle, cultured Christian woman, who had suffered, as all mortals must, but had still preserved her sweetness and serenity, as few mortals do. Yet more and more was I perplexed by that indefinable abstraction in her behaviour, which seemed somehow out of tune with the circumstances. Perhaps she was really more moved than she seemed to be; perhaps her apparent indifference was in reality only an admirable self-control. I fancied that it had given way for an instant when she was telling us the story of her daughter's disappearance. If I could only hit upon some way to startle her out of her self-possession, I might yet learn---- She turned suddenly and met my eyes. She flushed painfully--perhaps she read my thought; and instantly I blamed myself for my clumsiness in permitting my suspicion to appear in my face. It was a mischance not easily retrieved.