I caught her hands. "Gertrude, what is it?" She wrenched away her hands and glided towards the door. "I daren't tell you, I daren't tell you," she whispered, and her lips were as white as her face as she waved me back. "Wait, wait," she muttered, "when I can make up my mind, you shall know all." And she disappeared. "All what?" That was the question I asked myself as I returned to the inn. Apparently Gertrude knew something more about her father than what I had told her. But what could it be that could so move her to tears? Of course the discovery of her father's doubtful behavior had given her a shock, but it scarcely explained her uncontrolled emotion. I began to wonder if Mr. Monk had any connection with the Mootley murder. But, on reflection I could find no connecting link. Until Gertrude gave me her entire confidence, I could not explain anything. "Her entire confidence!" I stopped short when the two words flashed into my mind. I remembered that Gertrude had refused to give me the name of the mysterious person who had driven her out of the back door by the mere sight of him. Yes--him, for I truly believed that the person in question, although she had kept me in ignorance of the sex, was Walter Monk. On this assumption it was easy to guess why the poor girl had refused to speak the name. She dreaded lest her father should be implicated in the crime, and so, in the face of the danger to herself, had held her peace even to me, her staunch friend and devoted lover. This was what had brought her tears so readily. Notwithstanding she had seen him in the shop--as I now believed--she had hitherto refused to credit him with the murder. But the sudden discovery of the duplicity of which he was capable had aroused in her breast the latent doubt to active life. She now wished to be alone in order to consider if her father was guilty of murder as he had been guilty of deception. At least that was my belief, although I had little grounds to go upon. But Gertrude, as I had always thought, was shielding someone whom she had seen in Mrs. Caldershaw's shop. Who could that someone be but her father, since that relationship alone would be a powerful motive for her to hold her tongue, even at the risk of losing her liberty? But, try as I might, I could not see how Walter Monk could be connected with the death of Anne Caldershaw.