"No; you have spoken of no words. Have you any such clew as that? Miss Butterworth, you are fortunate, very fortunate." Mr. Gryce's look and gesture were eloquent, but Miss Butterworth, with an access of dignity, quietly remarked: "I was not to blame for being in the way when they passed, nor could I help hearing what she said." "And what was it, madam? Did she mention a paper?" "Yes, she cried in what I now remember to have been a tone of affright: 'You have left that line of writing behind!' I did not attach much importance to these words then, but when I came upon the dying man, so evidently the victim of murder, I recalled what his late visitor had said and looked about for this piece of writing." "And did you find it, Miss Butterworth? I am ready, as you see, for any revelation you may now make." "For one which would reflect dishonor on me? If I had found any paper explaining this tragedy, I should have felt bound to have called the attention of the police to it. I did notify them of the crime itself." "Yes, madam; and we are obliged to you; but how about your silence in regard to the fact of two persons having left that house immediately upon, or just preceding, the death of its master?" "I reserved that bit of information. I waited to see if the police would not get wind of these people without my help. I sincerely wished to keep my name out of this inquiry. Yet I feel a decided relief now that I have made my confession. I never could have rested properly after seeing so much, and----" "Well?" "Thinking my own thoughts in regard to what I saw, if I had found myself compelled to bridle my tongue while false scents were being followed and delicate clews overlooked or discarded without proper attention. I regard this murder as offering the most difficult problem that has ever come in my way, and, therefore----" "Yes, madam." "I cannot but wonder if an opportunity has been afforded me for retrieving myself in your eyes. I do not care for the opinion of any one else as to my ability or discretion; but I should like to make you forget my last despicable failure in Lost Man's Lane. It is a sore remembrance to me, Mr. Gryce, which nothing but a fresh success can make me forget." "Madam, I understand you. You have formulated some theory. You consider the young man with the tell-tale face guilty of Mr. Adams's death. Well, it is very possible. I never thought the butler was rehearsing a crime he had himself committed." "Do you know who the young man is I saw leaving that house so hurriedly?" "Not the least in the world. You are the first to bring him to my attention." "And the young girl with the blonde hair?" "It is the first I have heard of her, too." "I did not scatter the rose leaves that were found on that floor." "No, it was she. She probably wore a bouquet in her belt." "Nor was that frippery parasol mine, though I did lose a good, stout, serviceable one somewhere that day." "It was hers; I have no doubt of it."