“I saw a man lying face-downwards by the fireplace. There was blood on his head. It was a bald head. I saw a clock half-fallen over; and chairs too. And I came away. I ran to the river.” “Do you know,” Anthony asked slowly, “what time it was when you got back here?” “No,” said the lifeless ghost of the voice that had thrilled him. He was disappointed, and fell silent. Nothing new here, except, of course, the brother. And of this business of Brother James he did not yet know what to think. With this silence, Lucia’s cloak of impassivity left her. ‘What shall we do?’ she whispered. “What shall we do? They’ll find out that Jimmy—they’ll find out. I _know_ they will, I——” “The police know nothing about your brother, Mrs. Lemesurier.” Anthony’s tone was soothing. “And if they did, they wouldn’t worry their heads about him. You see, they’ve found a man they’re sure is the murderer. There’s quite a good _prima facie_ case against him, too.” Relief flooded her face with colour. For a moment she lay relaxed in her chair; then suddenly sat bolt upright again, her hands clutching at its arms. “But—but if they’re accusing some one else, they—we must tell them about—about—Jimmy.” Her face was white, dead white, again. “You go too fast, you know,” said Anthony. “Don’t you think we’d better find out a few people who didn’t do it before we unburden ourselves to the Law?” She laid eager hands on his arm. “You mean—you think Jim didn’t—didn’t do it?” Anthony nodded. “More prejudice, you see. And I know the man the bobbies have got hold of had nothing to do with it either. Again prejudice. Bias, lady, bias! There’s nothing like it to clear the head, nothing! Now, have you a telephone?” “Yes, yes,” she said eagerly. Hope, trust and other emotions showed in the velvet darkness of her eyes. “And your brother’s address?” Unhesitatingly she gave it; then added: “The phone’s in here.” She pointed to a writing-table at the far end of the room. As he turned to go to it, she clutched again at his arm. “Damn it!” thought Anthony. “I _wish_ she wouldn’t keep doing that. So disturbing!” But he smiled down at her. “Isn’t it dangerous to use the telephone?” she whispered. “Isn’t it? The girls at the exchange—if you use his name——” “Credit me with guile,” smiled Anthony. He crossed the room, sat by the table and pulled the instrument towards him. She stood beside him, her fingers gripping the back of his chair. He lifted the receiver and asked for a city number. “Is it a trunk-call?” he added. “No? Good!” To Lucia, her heart in her mouth, it seemed hours before he spoke again. Then— “Hallo. That _The Owl_ office?” he said. “It is? Well, put me on to Mr. Hastings, please. At once. You can’t? My child, if I’m not put through _at once_ you’ll go to-morrow! Understand?” A pause. To Lucia it seemed that the heavy thudding of her heart must be filling the room with sound. She pressed a hand to her breast.