--"that she saw--the same man again!" Barron's naturally ruddy colour had faded a little; his eyes blinked. He drew his coat forward over his knee, and put it back again nervously. Meynell's face was at first blank, or bewildered. Then a light of understanding shot through it. He fell back in his chair with an odd smile. "So _that_--is what you have in your mind?" Barron coughed a little. He was angrily conscious of an anxiety and misgiving he had not expected. He made all the greater effort to recover what seemed to him the proper tone. "It is all most sad--most lamentable. But I had, you perceive, the positive statement of a woman who should have known the facts first-hand, if any one did. Owing to her physical state, it was impossible to cross-examine her, and her sudden death made it impossible to refer her to you. I had to consider what I should do--" "Why should you have done anything--" said Meynell dryly, raising his eyes--"but forget as quickly as possible a story you had no means of verifying, and which bore its absurdity on the face of it?" Barron allowed himself a slight and melancholy smile. "I admit of course--at once--that I could not verify it. As to its _prima facie_ absurdity, I desire to say nothing offensive to you, but there have been many curious circumstances connected with your relation to the Fox-Wilton family which have given rise before now to gossip in this neighbourhood. I could not but perceive that the story told me threw light upon them. The remarkable language of Sir Ralph's will, the position of Miss Hester in the Fox-Wilton family, your relation to her--and to--to Miss Puttenham." Meynell's composure became a matter of some difficulty, but he maintained it. "What was there abnormal--or suspicious--in any of these circumstances?" he asked, his eyes fixed intently on his visitor. "I see no purpose to be gained by going into them on this occasion," said Barron, with all the dignity he could bring to bear. "For the unfortunate thing is--the thing which obliged me whether I would or no--and you will see from the dates that I have hesitated a long time--to bring Judith Sabin's statement to your notice--is that she seems to have talked to some one else in the neighbourhood before she died, besides myself. Her son declares that she saw no one. I have questioned him; of course without revealing my object. But she must have done so. And whoever it was has begun to write anonymous letters--repeating the story--in full detail--_with_ the identification--that I have just given you." "Anonymous letters?" repeated Meynell, raising himself sharply. "To whom?" "Dawes, the colliery manager, received the first." "To whom did he communicate it?" "To myself--and by his wish, and in the spirit of entire friendliness to you, I consulted your friend and supporter, Mr. Flaxman." Meynell raised his eyebrows. "Flaxman? You thought yourself justified?"