Laura Meredith rose and drew a step nearer to the smiling, mocking face before her. She could gladly have struck it. Then she moved away again, while the smile died from Semple’s face; and without uttering another word, she walked out of the room. Semple, in a rage, went off to his club, banging the door behind him; and Laura, as soon as she saw that the coast was clear, slipped back to the drawing-room fire (for, cat-like, she dearly loved a good blaze), and sat down to think. ‘So Alec, if he was not found guilty, was to be rich after all--as rich as his cousin! What a good thing it was that she had not committed herself definitely to Semple! But Alec--would he ever come back to her? She remembered only too well the look in his face when he met her outside Mr. Lindsay’s bedroom door with the will in her hand. Yet, if he were the victim of a plot, and if she were to deliver him from the snare in which he had been taken, surely gratitude would make him turn to her then! And she would be a good wife to him; faithful, and true, and loving. How happy they might be! And the girl’s eyes softened as the idea crossed her mind. He must be set free, and she must do it. He was innocent. She had never doubted that. (Curiously enough, this girl had judged Alec better than his own father had done.) How had he been involved? Had he really made a mistake? Or was there some conspiracy on foot? Laura went the right way to work. She did not stop to consider the difficulties of the case, but went straight to motives. If there was a plot on foot, Semple was concerned in it. She felt sure of that. Why had he been so anxious to get hold of that paper? She believed he had burned it. Then, why had he wanted to see the will, when (as she afterwards learned) he had been in the room while it was read? Had he made any alteration in it? No. She felt certain there had been no time for anything of that kind. If he had even bent down to write in it, she must have seen him doing it. He had only stood at the window with it in his hand reading it. Besides, if he had altered the writing in any way, the alteration must have been noticed. The girl’s subtle mind was at fault. She could see no clue to the plot which, she felt certain, existed. Suddenly she remembered the conversation between Semple and a stranger, which she had partly overheard at the railway-station. ‘We are not out of the wood yet,’ the stranger had said; and ‘he must not be there when the will is read, on any account.’ Who must not be there? Not Alec, surely. Dr. Mackenzie? Why? Clearly, that he might not be able to say what Alec had read. So much seemed clear; but still there was no explanation of the fact that Alec had failed to carry out his uncle’s instructions. Ponder over it as she might, the girl could not solve the mystery.