“I do!” replied Mr. Fransemmery firmly. “Putting everything together—I do! The woman from whom I got my information today, Margaret Hilson, is the sort of person that makes an ideal witness—you know what I mean. The sort that tells just what she knows, doesn’t want to add or subtract, embellish or disfigure, gives a plain affirmation or an equally plain negative; the sort, in fact, that hasn’t the imagination necessary to a deviation from truth. I have no doubt whatever that she gave me a plain, unvarnished account of what happened during her two visits to London, nor any that she saw the grave and the inscription she describes. And as to the probabilities of the marriage—well, Mr. Blick, I am, perhaps, a bit of an old gossip!—anyway, I like to talk to the country people about their affairs, though I hope I am not a Paul Pry. I like to hear of their little comedies and tragedies—I take a sympathetic interest in them. Now, long before I heard this story from Mrs. Hilson, I had heard of Myra Halliwell and her disappearance, and I had had a hint from one or two old people in the village that it might not be unconnected with Guy Markenmore. So—I was not unduly surprised at what Mrs. Hilson told me.” “I wonder if Myra’s sister—the woman at the Dower House—knows anything about it?” said Blick. “Daffy, as they call her—I wonder, too,” answered Mr. Fransemmery. “I think not, though. Daffy—whose correct name is Daphne—has been away in India for three years with Mrs. Tretheroe, and has only recently returned. Of course she may. But if she does, you may be certain she’ll soon let it be known!” “She looks,” remarked Blick thoughtfully, “like a woman who’s got a good many secrets. Secretive!—very much so. Well, it’s an odd business, sir! And as you unfolded your story to Mrs. Braxfield I began to speculate on its possible relation to my particular business—naturally!” “In what way, now?” asked Mr. Fransemmery. “Well, first of all,” replied Blick. “An obvious question: Has this anything to do with Guy Markenmore’s murder?” “Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Fransemmery. “Has it, indeed. A very big question, my good sir, and a remarkably difficult one to answer.” “Another,” continued Blick. “Mrs. Tretheroe told us at the inquest that she and Guy Markenmore had renewed their old love-affairs when they met last Monday night, and had agreed to get married at once. Now, I’d like to know this: Did Guy Markenmore tell her that he’d been married before, lost his wife, and had a son living?” “Did he, indeed?” said Mr. Fransemmery. “I wonder? But—who knows?” “If he did,” Blick went on, “why didn’t she divulge that fact at the inquest? If she knew it, why did she conceal it?” “Aye—why?” muttered Mr. Fransemmery. “Why?” “And if Guy Markenmore didn’t tell her—the woman he was going to marry!—why didn’t he?” said Blick. “Did he or didn’t he? It strikes me, sir, that there’s a good deal that’s of high importance in that!”