"Nonsense," said Mrs. Taunton, rapidly, "no woman can be loved too well." "No, I agree with you there--if she is worthy of it." "And is this lady not worthy?" "I don't know." "How mysterious you are--it is cruel of me to keep you trying to solve the riddle of my brother's death, when you ought to be making love to that young lady." "That is just it," said Ronald, with a groan; "if your brother had not been killed, I would not have doubted her." "What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Taunton, breathlessly; "who is she?" "Miss Cotoner." "What! The sister of my brother's wife?" "I don't know," he said, dreamily. "You don't know--you don't know?" she said, with a quick, indrawn breath; "what parrot-cry is this--did she come from Malta?" "Yes." "Then she must be what I have said." Ronald sighed. "I cant tell till I hear from Malta." "Does she know anything about my brother's death?" "Good God! no," he answered, quickly; "how could she?" "I don't know," she answered, between her clenched teeth; "but there is more in this than I understand." "You don't think I am playing you false?" he said, sharply. "No," she replied, in a kinder tone; "I don't think that--you have been so kind." "I intend to find out who killed your brother, and punish him or her," he said, slowly; "and though I love Miss Cotoner more than my life, till I discover this mystery, I will not speak one word of love to her." "You promise me?" "I promise," and he took her hand. They were silent for a moment, and then passed out of the garden together, both absorbed in their own thoughts. The woman's: "Will this love prevent him doing justice to my brother's memory?" The man's; "Is Carmela aware that I know her relationship to Mrs. Verschoyle?" CHAPTER XIV. A LETTER FROM MALTA. _Julian Roper to Ronald Monteith_. Dear Sir,--I have now been here a week, and in accordance with your instructions, have lost no time in investigating the case entrusted to me; but the results, I regret to say, are far from satisfactory. On my arrival at Valletta, I took up my quarters at the Hotel D'Angleterre, in the Strada Sta. Lucia, made inquiries as to the whereabouts of Mrs. Verschoyle, and after some considerable difficulty, found that she was staying at a boarding-house in the Strada Cristoforo. On learning this, I thought my best plan would be to take up my abode in the same house, as I could then learn with more precision the movements of Mrs. Verschoyle. To this end I went to the Strada Cristoforo, and found the boarding-house to be a very comfortable one, kept by a fat widow whose name is Signora Briffa. I secured very pleasant apartments, and took possession of them next day, much to my own satisfaction and that of the Signora.