“First tell me the name of your informer;” and so great was her agitation that she scarcely breathed the words. “I prefer not to do so, but I may say it is a reliable witness and one who gave his evidence most unwillingly.” “Well, if you will not tell me who he was, will you answer just one question about him? Was it Mr. Hall?” “No; it was not Mr. Hall.” As I had anticipated, she showed distinctly her relief at my answer. Evidently she dreaded to hear Hall's name brought into the conversation. “And now, Miss Lloyd, I ask you earnestly and with the best intent, please to tell me the details of your visit to Mr. Crawford that night in his office.” She sat silent for a moment, her eyes cast down, the long dark lashes lying on her pale cheeks. I waited patiently, for I knew she was struggling with a strong emotion of some sort, and I feared if I hurried her, her gentle mood would disappear, and she might again become angry or haughty of demeanor. At last she spoke. The dark lashes slowly raised, and she seemed even more gentle than at first. “I must tell you,” she said. “I see I must. But don't repeat it, unless it is necessary. Detectives have to know things, but they don't have to tell them, do they?” “We never repeat confidences, Miss Lloyd,” I replied, “except when necessary to further the cause of right and justice.” “Truly? Is that so?” She brightened up so much that I began to hope she had only some trifling matter to tell of. “Well, then,” she went on, “I will tell you, for I know it need not be repeated in the furtherance of justice. I did go down to my uncle's office that night, after Mrs. Pierce had been to my room; and it was I--it must have been I--who dropped those rose petals.” “And left the bag,” I suggested. “No,” she said, and her face looked perplexed, but not confused. “No, the bag is not mine, and I did not leave it there. I know nothing of it, absolutely nothing. But I did go to the office at about eleven o'clock. I had a talk with my uncle, and I left him there a half-hour later--alive and well as when I went in.” “Was your conversation about your engagement?” “Yes.” “Was it amicable?” “No, it was not! Uncle Joseph was more angry than I had ever before seen him. He declared he intended to make a new will the next morning, which would provide only a small income for me. He said this was not revenge or punishment for my loyalty to Mr. Hall, but--but--” “But what?” I urged gently.