“Hum!” muttered Alan, staring into the dark recess with its many shelves, “he seems to have his doubts as to whether his innocence will ever be clearly proved. Put the peacock back on the table, Marie, and let us look at the gems. If your uncle does not return they belong to you.” “Yes, he said that,” replied Miss Inderwick, putting down the peacock near the black bag. “Many of the gems are bought with my money. I always thought that you were hard on Uncle Ran, dear; he saved money for me.” “Marie, I have every wish to think well of your uncle,” confessed Alan, “but it seems to me that he does not act quite straightly. For one thing he undoubtedly treated Miss Grison very badly, and——” Fuller checked himself, as it did not seem necessary at the moment to reveal the strange truth regarding the woman’s claim to be Mrs. Sorley. “And what, dear?” asked the girl innocently. “Nothing. I shall tell you later. Let us think the best we can of your uncle, and examine his gems. I have seen them before, but I should like to admire them again. Bring the trays to the table, Marie.” The girl did so, and tray after tray of jewels was placed in the flood of sunshine which streamed through the windows of the room, until the whole table glittered with rainbow fires. When the shelves were empty, Marie put her hand in and groped round to see if she had missed any gem. Suddenly she uttered an exclamation, and brought out a long steel instrument, with a silver handle set with rough turquoise stones. “Oh, Alan, look at this, dear,” she said, bringing it to her lover. Fuller started and frowned, remembering how Grison had been stabbed with a slender instrument, a stiletto for choice. And here was a stiletto in the secret hiding-place of Sorley’s jewels. There was blood on the handle, and the young man looked at it with a shudder. Was Sorley guilty after all, and were these stains the life blood of Baldwin Grison? It would seem so, he thought, and his thoughts showed themselves in his face, for Marie uttered an exclamation and grew pale. “Oh Alan, dear, you don’t think that, do you?” she asked piteously. “Think what, dear,” he asked in his turn, and evasively. “That Uncle Ran murdered Mr. Grison with that stiletto.” She had made use of the very word mentioned at the inquest. “It looks like it, dear,” said Fuller sadly. “The evidence showed that Grison was murdered with a weapon of this sort, and now that we find it in a secret place known only to your uncle——” “Miss Grison knows it also,” cried Marie, determined to believe nothing against her relative. “We can’t be sure of that, dear. And if she did, she would not have placed the weapon there. You surely don’t think she killed her brother?” “Oh no; oh no. Still, if only to revenge herself on Uncle Ran because he—as she says—ruined Mr. Grison, she may have——”