“I never said I didn’t think that. But thinking so is a far cry from proving it. If you, Gray, could only bring yourself to tell me the important bit of information you are holding out on me, I should know better where we stand. I think, boy, the time has come—if you’re ever going to tell—to tell now.” I pondered. How could I tell them that I had seen Alma on the lake that night? How could I put her dear head in the noose?—for it was nothing less than that. I shook my head. “There’s nothing, Kee,” I said. “Don’t tell, if you don’t want to, Gray, but don’t think you can lie to me successfully. You can’t.” “But, Keeley,” I begged him, “granting I do know of a point that I haven’t told you, and supposing it definitely incriminates the girl I love, can you wonder that I want to withhold it?” “You mean you _think_ it definitely incriminates her. You may well be mistaken.” “It doesn’t seem so to me.” “And you propose to lock this important piece of information in your own soul, away from us all, and let us go on, blindly floundering——” “Do you suppose I care how blindly you flounder if you don’t suspect Alma Remsen? Do you suppose I care that I’m accessory after the fact, and all that, if I can keep her safe from suspicion?” “But, Gray, if I can convince you that it’s wiser to let me know, and if I promise not to utilize the information you give me, if it does prove her guilty, what then?” “If you give me your word of honour on that, I’ll tell.” “Very well, word of honour.” “Then,” I said, “I saw Alma Remsen in her canoe go to Pleasure Dome at about half-past one that night her uncle died, and I saw—no, I heard, her come back past here about half-past two.” “How are you so sure of this?” Kee asked. “You didn’t know her then. That was the very night you arrived here.” “I know that. I was looking out of my bedroom window and saw the girl; it was moonlight and I saw her distinctly. Then, next day when I saw Alma I recognized her for the same girl.” “And you didn’t see her return?” “I heard her, but I was sleepy and didn’t get up to look out. It may not have been she, of course, but it was a sound as of similar paddling.” “I’m glad you told me,” Keeley said, but his face was sombre and his eyes sad. CHAPTER XV JENNIE Keeley Moore had a knack of putting his troubles away on a high shelf, while he relaxed, as he called it. And with him, this meant relaxation of mind as well as body, and he stretched himself in his porch chair, and demanded light chatter, with no hint or mention of the Pleasure Dome tragedy. Lora, as usual, met him more than half way, and began a recital of the blunders made by her new parlour maid that morning. “Nice looking little baggage,” said Kee, who had always an eye for a pretty face. “Where’d you pick her up?” “I can’t tell you that,” said Lora, “it’s a secret.”