There was a ring of truth in her denials, yet I was unconvinced. I saw in her answers careful evasion of my questions. First, I myself had found poor Roddy dead, and that he had committed suicide six months before seemed to me but a silly tale. Secondly, her strange actions were suspicious. Thirdly, her curious association with Muriel seemed coupled with the latter's disappearance, and her clandestine visit to Jack Yelverton intensified the mystery in its every detail. "Of course, the mere finding of a photograph is no proof that you had met Roddy for six months," I admitted, recollecting Ash's statement that he had never seen her visit his master. "Then why suspect me?" she asked, in a tone of reproach. "I have expressed no suspicion," I said, as calmly as I could. "My surprise and doubt are surely pardonable under these curious circumstances--are they not?" "Certainly!" she responded. "Nevertheless during our acquaintance I have, you must admit, been as open with you as I have dared. You professed your love for me," she went on ruthlessly, "but I urged you to hesitate. Was I not frank with you when I told you plainly that we could never be lovers?" I nodded in the affirmative, and sighed when I recollected my lost Muriel. "Then why do you charge me with deception?" she asked, stretching out her tiny foot neat in its suede shoe, and contemplating it. She seemed nervous and hasty, yet determined to get to the bottom of my suspicions and so ascertain the depth of my knowledge of the truth. Detecting this, I resolved to act with discretion and diplomacy. Only by the exercise of consummate tact could I solve this enigma. "Deception!" I said. "You must admit that you are deceiving me by concealing the truth of who and what you are!" "That is scarcely a polite speech," she observed, toying with the lorgnette suspended from her neck by a long chain of gold with turquoises set at intervals. "What do you suspect me to be?" and she laughed lightly. "According to your own confession," I responded, "you are possessed of an influence which is baneful; you are a worker of mysterious evil; a woman whose contact is as venom, whose touch is blasting as fire!" "No! no!" she cried, starting up wildly and putting out her hands in imploring attitude. "I have done you no wrong--I swear I have not! Spare me your reproaches. A guilt is upon me--a terrible guilt, I admit--but I have at least spared you. I warned you in time, and you escaped!" "Then you are guilty!" I cried quickly, half-surprised at her sudden confession. But, turning her eyes upon me as she stood, she answered-- "Yes, I am guilty of a deadly sin--a sin that is terrible, awful, and unforgivable before God--yet, it is not what you suspect. I swear I had no hand in the death of your friend." "But you can reveal the truth to me!" I cried. "You shall tell me!" I added fiercely, as I approached her. "No," she panted, drawing back, "it is impossible. I--I cannot."