"Warn me!" she laughed scornfully. "That is ridiculous enough surely. I have a perfectly good reason for being here, but I am not accountable to you in any way for my movements. A duty you say--a duty to locate this man? A duty to whom?" "To the State, if no one else," he answered gravely. "Percival Coolidge did not commit suicide; he was murdered." "Murdered!" she came to her feet with utterance of the word. "You cannot think that!" "I know it, Miss Natalie; the evidence is beyond question; he was murdered in cold blood." "But by whom? for what purpose?" "These points are not yet determined; I am only sure of the crime." "Yes, but--but you suspect Jim Hobart. Isn't that true? You came here seeking him--yes, and me. You even think I know how this death occurred. You--you connect it with my fortune." "No, Miss Natalie," he protested stoutly, moved by her agitation. "The cause is a mystery, and who did it equally mysterious. The evidence thus far unearthed is all circumstantial." "Then why did you come out here searching for Hobart?" "Because of his strange meeting with Percival Coolidge the very day of his death; because his sudden disappearance furnished the only clue." "And that is all the knowledge you possess, absolutely all?" "Yes; I am no more than groping in the dark. My main object in coming was to put you on your guard." "You have repeated these suspicions to no one else? The Police?" "To no one. Only Sexton and I have even talked the matter over. We are both too loyal to you to ever say a word which might be to your injury." She suddenly held out her hand, and he took it, conscious of the firm clasp of her fingers. "I thank you, Captain West," she said sincerely, "and believe your purpose was honourable. You have told me frankly all you suspect, and doubtless you have reasons. You have simply made a mistake, that is all. Percival Coolidge was not murdered; he killed himself because he had muddled my affairs, and knew he was about to be discovered. You have got upon a wrong trail. Will you accept my word for this, and drop the whole matter here?" West was almost convinced, but not quite; the explanation had not been sufficiently explicit. "This man Hobart--who is he? What connection does he have with your affairs?" She hesitated slightly, yet her eyes did not fall, or her apparent cordiality change. "Mr. Hobart," she explained, "I have known for years. I told you before he was once in my father's employ. Now he is a private detective, and was employed on my case, before I advertised for you. I thought then he was not accomplishing anything, but at our interview Sunday, all was cleared up." "In the presence of Percival Coolidge?" "Yes; he was given a week in which to straighten matters. That was why he killed himself." "But why is it necessary for you to meet Hobart in a place like this--a veritable thieves' den?" She shrugged her shoulders, releasing his hand.