Hotchkiss felt certain that it had been Sullivan, but I was not so sure. Why would he have crawled like a thief into his own house? If he had crossed the park, as seemed probable, when we did, he had not made any attempt to use the knocker. I gave it up finally, and made an effort to conciliate the young woman in the tower. We had heard no sound since our spectacular entrance into her room. I was distinctly uncomfortable as, alone this time, I climbed to the tower staircase. Reasoning from before, she would probably throw a chair at me. I stopped at the foot of the staircase and called. “Hello up there,” I said, in as debonair a manner as I could summon. “Good morning. _Wie geht es bei ihnen?_” No reply. “_Bon jour, mademoiselle_,” I tried again. This time there was a movement of some sort from above, but nothing fell on me. “I—we want to apologize for rousing you so—er—unexpectedly this morning,” I went on. “The fact is, we wanted to talk to you, and you—you were hard to waken. We are travelers, lost in your mountains, and we crave a breakfast and an audience.” She came to the door then. I could feel that she was investigating the top of my head from above. “Is Mr. Sullivan with you?” she asked. It was the first word from her, and she was not sure of her voice. “No. We are alone. If you will come down and look at us you will find us two perfectly harmless people, whose horse—curses on him—departed without leave last night and left us at your gate.” She relaxed somewhat then and came down a step or two. “I was afraid I had killed somebody,” she said. “The housekeeper left yesterday, and the other maids went with her.” When she saw that I was comparatively young and lacked the earmarks of the highwayman, she was greatly relieved. She was inclined to fight shy of Hotchkiss, however, for some reason. She gave us a breakfast of a sort, for there was little in the house, and afterward we telephoned to the town for a vehicle. While Hotchkiss examined scratches and replaced the Bokhara rug, I engaged Jennie in conversation. “Can you tell me,” I asked, “who is managing the estate since Mrs. Curtis was killed?” “No one,” she returned shortly. “Has—any member of the family been here since the accident?” “No, sir. There was only the two, and some think Mr. Sullivan was killed as well as his sister.” “You don’t?” “No,” with conviction. “Why?” She wheeled on me with quick suspicion. “Are you a detective?” she demanded. “No.” “You told him to say you represented the law.” “I am a lawyer. Some of them misrepresent the law, but I—” She broke in impatiently. “A sheriff’s officer?” “No. Look here, Jennie; I am all that I should be. You’ll have to believe that. And I’m in a bad position through no fault of my own. I want you to answer some questions. If you will help me, I will do what I can for you. Do you live near here?” Her chin quivered. It was the first sign of weakness she had shown.