She turned on the girl and fired the question at her with intentional suddenness, and though Anita uttered a scared, “No,” it was a palpable untruth. “She did,” Miss Bascom went on. “You can see for yourself, Mr. Cray, she is lying.” “But even if she is, Miss Bascom, I must ask you to cease torturing her! I can’t stand for such cruelty!” Cray’s manhood revolted at the methods of the older woman who was causing such anguish to the poor child she accused. “You are not a legal inquisitor, Miss Bascom,” he went on; “it is for me to establish the truth or falsity of your suspicions.” “Yes, you! You’re like all the other men! If a girl is pretty and alluring, you would believe her statement that white is black!” “I believe no statements that cannot be proved to my satisfaction. Miss Austin, do you own an embroidery stiletto?” “Yes,” was the hesitating answer, and the dark eyes swept him a beseeching glance that made Miss Bascom fairly snort with scorn. “Where is it?” “I—I fear I must admit that it is just where Miss Bascom says it is—unless she has removed it. Tell me, Mr. Cray,” and Miss Mystery suddenly resumed her most independent air, “must I submit to this? I thought accused people were entitled to a—oh, you know, counsel—a lawyer, or somebody to take care of them.” “Wait, Miss Austin. You’re not accused yet—that is, not by legal authority.” “Oh, am I not? Then—” and she gave Miss Bascom a glance of unutterable scorn, “I have nothing to say.” “Nothing to say!” the spinster almost shrieked. “Nothing to say! Of course she hasn’t! She kills a man, takes his valuables, and then declares she has nothing to say.” “Now, now, Miss Bascom, be careful! Why did you put your stiletto in such a place, Miss Austin?” “I don’t know.” The dark eyes gave him a gaze of childlike innocence, and Cray couldn’t decide whether he was looking at a deep-dyed criminal or a helpless victim of unjust suspicion. “And where did you get the money and the ruby pin?” “I don’t know—I mean I don’t know how they got in my room. This lady says she found them there—that’s all I know about them.” An indifferent shrug of the slim shoulders seemed to imply that was all Miss Mystery cared, either, and Cray asked: “Then, if the valuables—the pin and the money are not yours, you are, of course, ready to relinquish possession of them.” “Of course I am not! Since I am accused of stealing them, I propose to retain possession until that accusation is proved or disproved! Perhaps Miss Bascom wishes to take them herself.” “You know, Miss Austin,” Mr. Cray spoke very gravely, “you are making a mistake in treating this matter flippantly. You are in danger—real danger, and you must be careful what you say. Do you want a lawyer?” “I don’t know,” the girl suddenly looked helpless. “Do you think I ought to have one?” “Have you funds?” “Yes. I am not a rich girl—but, neither am I poor. However, I think I shall ask advice of some one before I decide upon any course.”