“You, Ted, have seen at least one of these counters,” continued Mr. Ludgrove, in a quiet and solemn voice. “Do you remember ever seeing anything like it before?” Ted stared at Mr. Ludgrove, and the incredulous expression of his face turned slowly to one of mingled amazement and horror. “Why, yes,” he stammered. “Dad had a box of white bone counters just like the one I saw. He used to ask his friends in to play some card game, in which these counters were used. I haven’t seen them for a couple of years or more.” Again there was a silence, broken by something that sounded like a sob from Ivy. Ted turned towards her with a despairing gesture. “It isn’t true!” he exclaimed. “I can’t explain it, but it isn’t true! Dad couldn’t have done it. Why should he? There’s some terrible mystery behind all this. I shall never believe that poor dad had anything to do with it. Why was he killed himself, if he had?” He turned appealingly to Mr. Ludgrove. “You don’t believe it yourself, do you?” he said. “Your father was my friend, and I should be the last to accuse him,” he replied. “But, in fairness to you both, I was bound to point out the direction in which any enquiry as to the counters must lead. I do not profess to understand it, but I must warn you that a man like Inspector Hanslet cannot fail to perceive the points I have mentioned.” “But what am I to do if he questions me?” asked Ted distractedly. “Tell the truth,” replied Mr. Ludgrove solemnly. “Hide nothing, for if it is discovered that you have concealed anything, it will tell all the more heavily against your father. There is only one true court of justice, the court of our own hearts. A consciousness of innocence is the only support against an unjust accusation. It would perhaps have been better had your father realized this.” Chapter XVI Corfe Castle For a couple of days after Inspector Hanslet’s last visit to the house in Westbourne Terrace, Dr. Priestley’s attitude had sorely puzzled Harold. He had hardly spoken a word, and the greater part of his time had been spent in sorting out the mass of documents which had accumulated during the course of years in the massive presses which lined the walls of his study. Harold said nothing, knowing from past experience that it was useless to ask questions. When the Professor was ready to issue his instructions he would do so. Until then, untimely questions would merely be rewarded with a rebuff. It was therefore with intense eagerness that Harold replied, one morning shortly after breakfast, the Thursday following the death of Mr. Copperdock, to an abrupt question by his employer: “My boy, what I am about to say to you must remain a secret between ourselves, until either my death occurs or I give you leave to speak. Is that understood?” “I undertake not to breathe a word to anybody,” replied Harold.