His manner seemed to irritate Kelson. "I wish, my dear Hugh, I could take it half as coolly as you do," he exclaimed resentfully. "I don't know what you want me to do or say, Harry," Gifford expostulated. "The whole affair is so utterly mysterious that I can't pretend even to hazard an explanation." "In the meantime Muriel and I are in the most appalling position. Why, man, she may at any moment be arrested on suspicion if this discovery leaks out, as it is sure to do." "You can't try to hush it up; that would be a fatal mistake," Gifford said thoughtfully, "and would immediately arouse suspicion." "Naturally I am not going to be such a fool as to advise that," Kelson returned. "The discovery will be the subject of the servants' talk till it gets all over the place and into the papers. No, what I have determined to do, unless you see any good reason for the contrary, is to go first thing in the morning to the police and tell them. What do you say?" he added sharply, as Gifford was silent. "I should not do anything in a hurry," Gifford answered. "But surely," Kelson remonstrated, "the sooner we take the line of putting ourselves in the right the better." Again Gifford paused before replying. "Can Miss Tredworth give no explanation, has she no idea as to how the stains came on her dress?" "None whatever," was the emphatic answer. "You are absolutely sure of that?" Kelson jumped up from his chair. "Hugh, what are you driving at?" he cried, his eyes full of vague suspicion. "I--I don't understand the cool way you are taking this. There is something behind it. Tell me. I will know; I have a right." Evidently the man was almost beside himself with the fear of something he could not comprehend. Gifford rose and laid a hand sympathetically on his shoulder. "I am sorry to seem so brutal, Harry," he said gently, "but this discovery does not surprise me." Kelson recoiled as from a blow, staring at his friend with a horror-struck face. "Why, good heavens, what do you mean?" he gasped. "Only," Gifford answered calmly, "that when you introduced me to Miss Tredworth at the dance I noticed the stains on the white flowers she wore." "You did?" Kelson was staring stupidly at Gifford. "And you knew they were blood-stains?" "I could not tell that," was the answer. "But now it is pretty certain they were." For some seconds neither man spoke. Then with an effort Kelson seemed to nerve himself to put another question. "Hugh," he said, his eyes pitiful with fear, "you--you don't think Muriel Tredworth had anything to do with Henshaw's death?" Gifford turned away, and leaned on the mantelpiece. "I don't know what to think," he said gloomily. CHAPTER XI GIFFORD'S COMMISSION