Ronald arose to his feet, and walked hastily too and fro. He was wrong, then; Mrs. Verschoyle was innocent of her husband's death. Who, then, was the assassin, for no one else appeared to have had any reason to wish him evil. Vassalla himself? no! it could not be he, because he had no motive. The theory of Mrs. Verschoyle's criminality having been thus effectually disposed of, there appeared to be absolutely no clue to the perpetrator of the crime. Vassalla returned with the letter, and handed it to Ronald, showing him at the same time the passage he alluded to. "I was so sorry," said the letter, "not to have been able to come down and see you and Carmela away by the boat, but I had a very bad headache, and was shut up all the evening in my room." Ronald handed back the letter in silence, but first thoughtfully glanced at the writing. It certainly resembled that in the letter written five or six years ago, but he could not recollect it with sufficient clearness to satisfy himself. "You are convinced?" said Vassalla, as he placed the letter in his pocket-book. "Yes," answered Ronald, "I am convinced; good-bye, and thank you for your kindness in answering my questions." "A pleasure," said the Marchese, and bowed his visitor out with smiles, which, however, faded as the door closed. "Curse that meddling fool," he muttered to himself, "why can't he mind his own business? but I've baffled him this time, and I'll baffle him again if he interfere." CHAPTER XVI. CARMELA IS QUESTIONED. Of course Ronald went straight to Foster's office, and there made his report regarding the statements of Vassalla. The barrister listened to Monteith in silence, and, when he was in full possession of the facts, sat absently scribbling on his blotting-paper, much to Ronald's disgust at what he deemed his inattention. "Hang it, Foster," said the Australian, irritably, "I wish you'd say something; you've not lost your tongue, have you?" "No; nor my brains either," retorted Foster, lighting a cigarette, "you'd better have a smoke; it will soothe you." "I don't want to be soothed." "Oh, yes, you do," returned Gerald, imperturbably; "try one of these; they are real Russian cigarettes." In order to propitiate his companion, Ronald took one and smoked away in sulky silence. Mr. Foster settled himself deliberately in his chair, and fixing his clear eyes on Monteith, began to talk. "What do you think of the position of affairs now?" he asked, knocking the ash off his cigarette. "It seems to me that the game's up," retorted Ronald, sullenly. "On the contrary, the game is just beginning to be interesting," said Foster, calmly. "What do you mean?" asked Ronald, sitting up straight in his chair. "I tell you, Vassalla not only told me plainly that Mrs. Verschoyle was not on board, but showed me a letter in her own handwriting which confirmed it." "Oh, yes," said Foster, satirically, "I must acknowledge it's all very beautifully arranged."