Like Joad, this man was another _protégé_ of Edermont's, who had procured for him a small post in a private school at Chillum. Pride was not unlike his late patron, being short and insignificant-looking, with a white beard, hardly so luxuriant as that of Edermont, and silvery-white hair. In the distance the resemblance was striking, but a closer inspection showed the difference between the two men, as Pride was plump and rosy, with mild eyes and a good-natured smile. He rubbed one fat hand over the other, and saluted Miss Carew in his usual cheery fashion. "I am glad to see you looking so well, Miss Carew," he said brightly. "You go to London?" "Only for the day, Mr. Pride," replied Dora coldly. "Ah! no doubt you wish to get away from those pests who swarm round the Red House in the hope of gaining a fortune." "Those amateur detectives?" said Dora quietly; "do you think they will discover the truth?" "Who knows?" was Pride's reply; "they will do their best to do so. Fifty thousand pounds is worth the earning." Dora considered for a moment, then turned on him suddenly. "You were at Canterbury on the night the murder was committed?" "Till close on eleven," returned Pride easily; "then I walked back to Chillum." "And you went into Mr. Joad's house?" "I did. I was with him at one o'clock." "Did you meet anyone on a bicycle as you walked to Chillum from Canterbury?" "Why," replied the schoolmaster after a moment's pause, "I met two people, and each rode a bicycle. One, a man, was riding towards Chillum; the other, a woman, was making for Canterbury." "Did you know who they were?" "I, my dear Miss Carew!" said Pride in great surprise--"why, no. I took no particular notice of them, in the first place; and in the second, they flitted along so swiftly and noiselessly that I was hardly aware of their passing." "I suppose you have no clue to the assassin?" said Dora abruptly. "No. If I had, I should not scruple to earn the fortune." "Can you conjecture the motive for the crime, Mr. Pride?" "I--am--afraid--not," said Pride slowly. "I knew Mr. Edermont well; but there was nothing in his past life likely to endanger his safety." "He thought otherwise. Mr. Edermont was always haunted by the dread of a violent death." "I knew that, Miss Carew. Monomania, my dear lady--monomania." "It could not be monomania if it came true," said Dora impetuously. "Why not?" replied Pride in an argumentative tone. "Monomania is the dwelling on one particular idea until it fills the thoughts and life of the thinker. Mr. Edermont may have had reason to suppose that his life was in danger; but the original cause may have passed away. Nevertheless, the habit may have continued; and so," added Pride with a shrug, "we may reasonably ascribe our friend's death to a creature of his imagination."