She collapsed then, and sat, huddled in the big chair, shaking with sobs. Without a word, Doctor Davenport went to her, assisted her to rise, and, summoning a maid to help him, took Millicent Lindsay away to her own room. “What ails her, anyway?” Louis growled, looking at Phyllis, curiously. “Oh, she’s like that when she gets a tantrum,” the girl responded, looking worried. “She’s really good friends with me, but if she takes a notion she turns against me, and she can’t think of anything bad enough to say to me.” “I don’t like her present attitude,” Lane said, abruptly. “She may make a lot of trouble for you, Miss Lindsay. _Did_ you know of contents of the will?” “No,” she returned, but she did not look at the lawyer. If, he mused, she were telling an untruth, she would, doubtless, look just like that. “Are you sure?” he followed up. “Of course, I’m sure!” she flung up her head and looked at him. Her dark eyes were not flashing, but smoldering with a deep fire of indignation. “How dare you question my statements!” “Now, Phyl,” said her brother, “be careful what you say. Millicent has it in her power to do you a bad turn, and she’s willing to do it if she thinks you’re mixed up in her brother’s case. Do you know _anything_ about it, old girl?” Phyllis gave him a look of reproach, but he went on. “Now don’t eat me up with your eyes, Sis. When I ask if you know anything about the thing, I don’t mean did you kill Robert Gleason! Of course, I know better than that! But—oh, well, don’t you think, Lane, that Millicent can make trouble for us?” “Us?” and the lawyer raised his eyebrows. “Where do you come in, Lindsay?” “Oh,” with an impatient shrug, “Phyl’s troubles are mine, of course. And seems to me, Millicent has a very annoying bee in her bonnet.” “Easy enough to settle the matter,” Lane said, briefly. “Where were you, Miss Lindsay, when the—the tragedy took place?” “Why, I don’t know,” Phyllis replied. “Here—at home—I think.” But a sudden flood of scarlet suffused her face, and she was quite evidently preserving her composure by a strong effort. The small, slight figure, sitting in a tall-backed chair was a picture of itself. Phyllis’ bright coloring, her deep, glowing eyes, scarlet lips and rose-flushed cheeks were accented by the plain black gown she wore and her graceful little hands moved eloquently as she talked, and then fluttered to rest on the carved arms of the great chair. “Sure?” “Stop saying ‘sure?’ to me!” Phyllis spoke shortly, and then gave a good-natured laugh. “Of course, I’m not sure, Mr Lane. I’ll have to think back. I haven’t a—what do they call it—an alibi, but all the same I didn’t kill——”