Gordon Lockwood told these falsehoods with as calm an air as he would have shown in making truthful statements. He was not only deeply in love with Anita Austin, but he did not and would not believe her guilty of crime, or of any connection with a crime. Wherefore, he was ready and willing to tell any number of lies to save or shield her. And from his manner none could guess he was saying other than absolute truth. “But look here,” spoke up Maurice Trask. “This won’t do, you know. Are you people accusing a girl of Doctor Waring’s murder? A _girl_!” “Not accusation yet,” Cray told him, “but we want to know more about the young lady in question. In fact, she’s been dubbed Miss Mystery, because so little is known about her.” “Miss Mystery, eh? And she came here to see the Doctor the night he died?” “She did not!” Lockwood asserted, calmly. “Had she done so, I should have known it.” “Of course you would,” Trask looked at him shrewdly. “Of course. But the impress of her clothing was left on the chairback? Is that it?” “That’s it,” said Helen, sharply. “And when forty-leven other things prove her presence here that evening, I don’t know why Mr. Lockwood so positively denies it. He must have a deep interest in the young lady!” Helen’s spitefulness was undisguised, and her mother looked pained and regretful. Both these women had hoped that Gordon Lockwood’s affections might turn toward Helen, and the older one realized that such speeches as this would in no way further their plans. But Helen was thoroughly jealous of Miss Mystery, for more reasons than one, and she let her unbridled tongue expose her feelings. Cray knew all this, and therefore took Helen’s statements with a grain of salt. And yet, he soliloquized, she would scarcely make up that rigmarole of the dress trimming. He fancied it was true. And why shouldn’t it be? The evidence of Anita Austin’s presence in John Waring’s study that fatal night was far too strong to be ignored. Moreover, the girl’s possession of the money and the ruby pin had yet to be satisfactorily explained. It was unthinkable that anyone should have stolen these things and “planted” them in Miss Austin’s bureau drawer! “I’d like to see this young woman,” said Trask, suddenly. “I’m going over to see her now, come along,” invited Cray, who was a little impressed by the perspicuity of this stranger. “I’m going, too,” declared Helen Peyton, and as Lockwood couldn’t keep away, they all went over to the Adams house. In the cosy sitting-room they congregated, and Mrs. Adams went upstairs to summon Anita. She found the room locked. When, in response to a repeated summons, the door was opened, Mrs. Adams faced a tearful, sad-faced girl, who asked indifferently what was wanted. “You’ll have to come down stairs,” the landlady said; “Mr. Cray is there, and—and some others. They want to see you.” “I won’t go down. I don’t want to see anybody.”