"It was for a brief space that he came back to his own home," she responded, in that same far-away voice, turning her eyes full upon me. "And did not life leave him suddenly, in a manner which has since remained a mystery?" "No," I answered determinedly, my mind fully made up. "Not altogether a mystery. The police have discovered many things." "The police!" she gasped. "What have they discovered?" "They do not generally tell the public the result of their investigations," I answered. "But they have found out that he received a visitor clandestinely half an hour before his death, and further, that he was murdered." "Murdered!" she exclaimed, with an uneasy glance and stirring in her chair. "Do they suspect any one?" "Yes," I replied. "They suspect his visitor; and they have discovered that this mysterious person who came to see him immediately before his death was a woman!" Her lips compressed until they became white and bloodless, and the light died from her countenance. She tried to speak, but her tongue refused to utter sound, and she covered her confusion by placing her teacup upon the table. "Have they found out who it was who called upon him?" she inquired at last, in a low, faltering voice. "They have a strong suspicion," I said firmly. "And they are resolved that the one responsible for his death shall be brought to justice." "There is no proof that he was murdered," she declared quickly. "Neither is there any proof that he died from natural causes," I argued. Then I added, "Was it not strange, Aline, that you should actually have told me of my friend's death on the very morning that he died?" "It was certainly a very remarkable coincidence," she faltered; after a pause adding: "If he has been murdered, as you suspect, I hope the police will not fail to discover the author of the crime." "But you declared that Roddy was already dead!" I cried, dumbfounded. "Certainly!" she answered. "I still maintain the truth of my statement." "Then you do not believe he was murdered?" She shrugged her shoulders without replying. For an instant I gazed into those eyes which had once held me spell-bound, and said-- "The truth is already known to the police. Roddy Morgan was murdered by a woman, swiftly, silently, and in a manner which showed firm determination and devilish cunning. You may rest assured that she will not escape." She started. Her face was blanched to the lips, and she sat before me rigid, open-mouthed, speechless. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. ROCKS AMONG PEBBLES. Her attitude convinced me of her guilt, yet what conclusive proof had I? None--absolutely none. "Your photograph was found in his rooms. I found it myself," I said. "Does that prove that I am untruthful?" she inquired, raising her eyebrows quickly. I recollected the glove-button. But the gloves she wore were new ones, and all the buttons were intact.