“Now, look here, Miss Austin,” Trask said, in a determined tone, “I know you killed that man as well as I know you’re here. Also, I know why. Or, at least, I don’t know exactly why, but I have knowledge that will lead straight to a revelation of the whole affair. I know you are related to the Truesdells—though perhaps you don’t know that yourself. Now, here’s my proposition. I’m a lawyer, and I’m known as a shrewd one. Many a time I’ve made black appear white—and I can do it in your case. But—if you’ll marry me, I’ll get you off. Wait a minute—don’t speak yet. I’m not bad-looking, I’m kind-hearted and, by my cousin’s death, I’m a rich man. You may not love me yet—but I’ll guarantee I can win your affection. I fell in love with you, the very minute I saw you and I want you for my wife. You needn’t marry me now—wait as long as you say—but give me your promise, and I’ll clear you of all suspicion in this terrible affair. On the other hand—” There was a pause, and then Anita said: “On the other hand?” “I shall tell what I know about you—and, well, you know yourself what chance you will have then of getting off scotfree!” “A threat?” and Miss Mystery flung up her proud little head. “No; don’t misunderstand. Not a threat. But I admit, a bribe. Marry me, and I’ll free you. Say no—and I don’t have to do a thing. The law will do it all. You simpleton! Do you suppose you can keep your secret once the law really begins to hound you? Cray is only just opening his eyes to your connections with the case. Lockwood has realized that you must be guilty, though he’s trying hard not to believe it. Old Salt only befriends you because you’re helpless and pretty—not because he thinks you’re innocent—any more than his wife does. The two Peytons hate you—for reasons of their own—probably because you snared Lockwood away from the lovely Helen. But none of those things will matter if you take up with my offer. I’ll carry you through with flying colors. You’ll be not only freed from suspicion but eulogized and beloved by all who know you, and as my wife, you’ll have a proud and enviable position.” Miss Mystery gave the speaker a look that not only took him in from head to foot but seemed to penetrate his very soul, and in a quiet, even tone, she said: “Rather than marry you—I would face the electric chair.” The scorn in her voice, even more than the scathing words themselves, enraged Trask. “Oh,” he said, with ill-repressed fury, “you would, would you? Have your own way, then, Miss Mystery—and soon your mystery will be known and you may have your desire, and—face the electric chair!” The girl rose, and stood, waiting. “Go,” she said, without glance or gesture. And in a white heat of anger, Trask went. “Now, dearie,” Mrs. Adams said, coming in, “I don’t want you to tell me anything. My husband bids me befriend you—and I will, so long as your case is uncertain. But if you’re proved to be guilty, I—”