“I don’t know what to make of that,” she said, the words dropping slowly with spaces between. “Neither do we, Miss Tracy,” said Rawson, and leaning back, his hands clasped over his stomach, he gazed intently at her through his horn-rimmed glasses. The glow increased, wrapped her round in a flame-like heat that ran along her skin in prickling points. It shone on the lenses of Rawson’s glasses which seemed to grow larger and come nearer, malignly glaring. “Yes, you do,” she said and heard her voice hoarse and changed. “You’ve made something of it already. And what you’ve made is lies--wicked lies.” Then she had seen it. Bassett made a step forward, but she leaped to her feet, oblivious of him: “You think he did it, just because you can’t find him. That’s all he’s done, gone away. You must be crazy. What would he do it _for_? Don’t you have to have a reason to commit murder?” Williams was sorry for her, a pallid panting creature shaken out of her gentle semblance by an unexpected revelation. “Come now, Miss Tracy,” he urged. “Don’t get worked up.” But she paid no heed, pouring out her words at Rawson who remained without change of position, looking fixedly at her. “They weren’t good friends. I don’t know why--I asked her but she wouldn’t tell me. And what was it--a quarrel, a grievance? But that wouldn’t make him want to _kill_ her!” “I’ve told them that, Anne,” Bassett implored; “there’s no use going over it.” She made a motion for him to keep silent and moved nearer Rawson. “It is strange his going away like that--I’ll admit it. But he did strange things; and does every one always do what’s sensible and reasonable? Because he happened to act in a way that we can’t understand is no proof he’s a murderer. He didn’t do it, he couldn’t have done it. And to think that he’s here! Where would he be? Haven’t you searched the whole island? He’s gone, even if he didn’t meet Jimmy Travers. He’s gone somewhere else.” Rawson leaned suddenly forward and caught her by the wrist: “What did you see last night in the living-room?” If he had meant to surprise her he failed of his purpose. She hung back from his grip and said with defiant emphasis: “_I saw nothing!_” “Are you sure it was a book you came down for?” “It was a book, as I told you.” “You could read a few hours after your friend was murdered?” “I could try to read--it was better than thinking.” “You’ve got a pretty cool head, Miss Tracy,” he added, and relinquished her hand. She fell back in her chair as if his hold upon her had been all that sustained her in an upright position. He rose, looking down at her, curious and unsatisfied: “I guess we’ll call a halt for a while. We’ve other work to attend to. But wait here till we come back; we may have to do some more talking.” He turned to Williams and gave a jerk of his head toward the hall. “Come on, we’ll go up there now.”