"I am quite at a loss, Miss Rivers," he began at length, speaking in a hard, dry voice, "to know why you should address so singular an appeal to me, or assume that I know anything more about Mr. Hazeldine's tragical end than is known to the world at large. A certain remark made by an old woman--a certain coincidence of date in connection with a parcel of banknotes--such is the flimsy superstructure round which you choose to build an imaginary theory, and then appeal to me for facts to enable you to substantiate it. No, Miss Rivers, it won't do. Your house of cards has no foundation beyond that which is supplied by your own vivid imagination. Pray accept my assurance on that score. The way in which the money, both gold and notes, came into my mother's hands is easily explained. I had won it over a certain race a few days before. The gold, as I have already remarked, I gave to her for her own use. That she did not choose to benefit by it is no fault of mine. The notes, which were intended by me for a very special purpose, I asked her to take charge of till the time should come for me to reclaim them, knowing well, as I did, that if I kept them by me, they would inevitably disappear after the fashion in which so many of their kind had disappeared already. The explanation is a simple one. I trust that you are satisfied." He had come back to the table while speaking. Tearing open the envelope with an air of manifest defiance, he extracted the notes from it, and proceeded to stuff them unceremoniously into his pocket. But Hermia was far from being satisfied. She felt instinctively that he was prevaricating, and that he knew far more than he cared to tell. But, in face of his emphatic denial, what was it possible for her to do more than she had done already? His manner implied that, as far as he was concerned, the interview was at an end, and, indeed, Hermia felt that it was high time for her to go. There was upon her a sense of hopeless bewilderment as she rose and pushed back her chair. She was like one groping in the mazes of a dark cavern, who, while feeling sure the daylight is close at hand, vainly strives to find the way which will lead him to it. She would have to go back to Ashdown no wiser than she had left it. "Before you go, Miss Rivers," said Varrel, "permit me to thank you, which I do from the bottom of my heart, for all your kindness to my poor mother." He added a little more in the same strain, which it is not needful to repeat. Three minutes later Hermia had rejoined Mr. Wingate. CHAPTER XXXVII. HOW AND WHY.