"Why don't you want me to say that I saw this man in the village last night, and that he asked for you, Mr. Ducaine? I can't understand what difference it makes. He may have spoken to others besides me, and then it is bound to be known. What harm can it do you?" "I cannot explain how I feel about it," I answered. "I am not sure that I know myself. Only you must see that if it were known that he set out from the village last night to call upon me, people might say unpleasant things." She lowered her voice. "You mean--that they might suspect you of killing him?" "Why not? Nobody knows much about me here, and it would seem suspicious. It was I who found him, and only a few hundred yards from my cottage. If it were known that he had left the village last night to see me, don't you think that it would occur to any one to wonder if we had met--and quarrelled? There could be no proof, of course, but the mere suggestion is unpleasant enough." We were in the middle of the open road, and the wagon was several yards in front. Nevertheless she drew a little closer to me, and almost whispered in my ear-- "Do you know who he is, what he wanted to see you about?" "I have no idea," I answered. "I am quite sure that I never saw him before in my life." "Did you see him last night?" she asked. "Not to speak to," I answered. "I did catch just a glimpse of him, I believe, in rather a strange way. But that was all." "What do you mean "I saw him looking in through my window, but he came no nearer. Lady Angela and Colonel Ray were in the room." "In your room?" "Yes. Colonel Ray called to say that he was sorry to have spoilt my lecture." "And Lady Angela?" "Yes." "She came in too?" The girl's open-mouthed curiosity irritated me. "I happened to be ill when Colonel Ray came. They were both very kind to me." "This man, then," she continued, "he looked in and went away?" "I suppose so," I answered. "I saw no more of him." She turned towards me breathlessly. "I don't see how a fall could have killed him, or how he could have wandered off into the marshes just there. The creek isn't nearly deep enough to have drowned him unless he had walked deliberately in and lain down. He was quite sober, too, when he spoke to me. Mr. Ducaine, how did he die? What killed him?" I shook my head. "If I could answer you these questions," I said, "I should feel much easier in my own mind. But I cannot. I know no more about it than you do." We were both silent for a time, but I saw that there was a new look in her face. It was a welcome relief when a groom from Rowchester overtook us and pulled up his horse by our side. "Are you Mr. Ducaine, sir?" he asked, touching his hat. "Yes," I answered. "I have a note for you from his Grace, sir," he said. "I was to take back an answer if I found you at home." He handed it to me, and I tore it open. It contained only a few lines, in a large sprawling hand-writing. "ROWCHESTER, Wednesday Morning.