“Do they suspect her—do _you_ suspect her, Bathurst?” demanded Peter, “it seems impossible——that girl—mixed up in a monstrous affair of this sort”—he stopped at a loss for words to express his indignation adequately. “I can’t answer your first question—I can’t answer for them,” said Anthony, “but I certainly suspect her of knowing more than she has told us. For instance—why has she deliberately accused Morgan Llewellyn?” “What?” muttered Peter again. “When?” “To Sergeant Clegg when he first spoke to her—what do you make of that, Daventry?” Peter was non-committal. “Again,” continued Bathurst relentlessly, “why were her initials in front of the dead man—scrawled by the dead man in his last conscious moments?” “They mightn’t have been intended for hers—you can’t be certain,” defended Peter. “Of course not!” Anthony slapped him on the back. “_As a matter of fact they weren’t!_” Peter could hardly believe his ears at this sudden revelation. “How can you know that?” he demanded. “Well, I don’t know, Daventry,” came the prompt reply, “but all the same, I’m pretty sure.” They were nearing their destination, and the edges of the grounds of Assynton Lodge were already coming into sight. Anthony became grave again. “But there’s one thing I don’t know,” he muttered. “What is the secret of these Stuart screens? What do they hold to make men murder for their possession? Why does one bear the first two words of a line from Virgil? ‘I fear the Greeks’—why the Greeks?—there were no Greeks round Mary surely”—he turned to his companion. “Tell me again—what was the inscription on the tapestry screen at the Hanover Galleries?” “It was done in colored beads—the beads spelled the words, ‘Jesus Christ, God and Saviour.’” “Made by a monk, I suppose,” murmured Anthony, “their work was usually dedicated in that way—still——” Peter cut in. “I know! There’s one thing I wanted to ask you—it slipped my mind just now. What made you suspect Colonel Leach-Fletcher?” Anthony showed signs of amusement. “Who says I suspect him?” “I could see you did,” replied Peter, “dash it all, I’m not so blind as all that.” “You’re forgetting something, Daventry,” said Anthony. “Leach-Fletcher’s stay was from seven to ten, you know—three hours he spent with the murdered man!” Peter looked blank. “Don’t get you,” he exclaimed. “If you want to suspect anybody—suspect that lying Butterworth. He must have some ulterior motive for hatching up that yarn about Miss Lennox.” Anthony shook his head in denial. “Butterworth told the truth, Daventry. What he said about Miss Lennox is entirely accurate.”