Clegg received the announcement stolidly—he was progressing! Charles Stewart gave a gasp of astonishment and turned to her with an air of remonstrance. “You’re mad, Marjorie! You’ve no right to bring an accusation of that kind. Why should Llewellyn have harmed my father?” Clegg waited eagerly for the answer. He even got his note-book ready. Marjorie Lennox faced her so-called cousin defiantly—her blue eyes challenging his grey ones. For a moment there was a silent battle for the mastery. Then before either of the men could stop her, she swept majestically from the room! CHAPTER VII Butterworth Is Apprehensive of the Future For the second time on that eventful morning Sergeant Clegg felt at loggerheads with circumstances. For the second time he felt that the Law had received a set-back—that he, its accredited representative, had been flouted! Charles Stewart looked at him somewhat anxiously. How was he going to take this feminine outburst? Stewart attempted to smooth things over. “A trifle hysterical, I fancy, Sergeant, and it’s scarcely to be wondered at. She’s had a trying time—I know what it’s been like to me—it must be a thousand times worse for her.” Clegg nodded. “H’m. Now that’s most extraordinary. There’s an ‘M. L.’ on the paper under your father’s hand—then there turns up a ‘Morgan Llewellyn’—then I find a ‘Marjorie Lennox’ and a——” he pulled himself up. He would keep the handkerchief incident absolutely to himself. “And to crown all—one of the ‘M. L.’s’ finishes up by accusing the other ‘M. L.’” He sighed and then gave expression to the point that had been his constant worry since his arrival. “What was the weapon the murderer used?” Stewart broke in upon him. “With all deference, Sergeant, I shouldn’t place any reliance at all on what Miss Lennox said. She’s distraught.” “She’s not, Mr. Stewart. She’s not the kind. She meant _something_—I’ll take my Bible oath on that.” Stewart shook his head as though unconvinced. “Women are whimsical, Sergeant.” “I know. None better. I’ve been married seventeen years and I’m still learning things—but there you are! I’d like to see this butler of yours now—what’s his name, Butterworth?” “Right! In here?” “No—in the library. I’ll get along in there again. Bring Butterworth, will you, Mr. Stewart?” “Well, Potter,” said the Sergeant as he regained the library door, “everything O. K.?” Potter touched his helmet—satisfaction oozing from his finger-tips. “Yes, Sergeant—nobody’s crossed the threshold since you left, Sergeant. A young lady came across the corridor just now and wanted me to let her pull down the blinds or something—she said the sun ruined the carpet at this time of the day—but I explained as genteelly as I could about orders being orders.” He beamed at this account of his devotion to duty. Clegg scratched his chin. The plot was getting thicker! “What sort of a young lady, Potter?” “On the small side, Sergeant. A regular dainty piece she was and no mistake!”