"For reasons best known to yourself," resumed Robert in the same quiet, passionless voice in which he had spoken before, "you arrived back from your holiday on Friday evening, although you were not due at business till the following Monday. While on your way to your lodgings you came face to face with my brother, and in consequence, doubtless, of certain representations on his part, you accompanied him back to his office--to this very room, in point of fact. A quarter of an hour later you surprised Mrs. Melray in her sitting-room. In explanation of your intrusion you gave her to understand that, through some mischance, my brother had met his death at your hands, and you appealed to her to help to save you from the consequences of your rash act. To that appeal she responded by finding you, unknown to anyone, shelter and food for three nights and two days; by which means you were enabled to appear at the office on Monday morning as if you had but just got back from your holiday. Now, Richard Dyson, I demand of you that you shall account to me for my brother! I hint no threats, but it must be plain to you on the verge of what a precipice you are standing. Let me have the truth about what happened just as it did happen. I ask for no more and I have a right to look for no less." It would not be easy to describe with what a strange confluence of emotions Dyson had listened to the growing indictment. Wonder as whence and how Robert had gleaned his information was, perhaps, his predominant feeling just then. Could it be possible, he asked himself, that Denia had turned traitor and betrayed him? But such was his faith in the sincerity of her love for him that he dismissed the thought almost as soon as it was formed. But it was no time for indulging in futile speculations. Robert Melray was waiting with bent brows.