Anthony looked down at her. “The good I have done is this: I have added to my knowledge. I know, now, that you had nothing to do with your brother’s death. And I know there is a woman in the business and who she is. She may not be concerned either directly or indirectly, but the hackneyed French saying is often a useful principle to work on.” The pale eyes of Laura Hoode regarded him with curiosity. He felt with surprise that she seemed every minute to grow more human. “You are an unusual person, Mr. Gethryn,” she said. “You spy upon me and torture me—and yet I feel that I like you.” She paused; then went on: “You’ll tell me that you know that the young man Deacon did not kill my brother; you tell me that although I have behaved so suspiciously you know also that I had nothing to do with—with the crime. How do you know these things?” Anthony smiled. “I know,” he said, “because you both told me. I know that neither of you did it as you would know, after talking to him, that the bishop hadn’t really stolen the little girl’s sixpence, even though all the newspapers had said he did. Now I must go. Good-night.” He left Laura Hoode smiling, smiling as she had not for many months. As he entered the hall from the passage, a woman rushed at him. She was tall, and suspiciously beautiful. She drooped and made eyes. She was shy and daring and coy. “Oh!” she gasped. “Is it Colonel Gethryn? _Is_ it? Oh, you _must_ be? Oh, Colonel, how _thrilling_ to meet you! How _too_ thrilling!” Mrs. Roland Mainwaring pleased Anthony not at all. It is to be deplored that he was at no pains to conceal his distaste. “Mrs. Mainwaring?” he said. “Madam, the thrill is yours.” She stood blocking his path. Perforce he stood still. “Oh, colonel, _do_ tell me you don’t think that _sweet_ boy—oh! the beastly police—it’s all _too_, too horrible and _awful_!” Anthony laughed. The thought of Deacon as a “_sweet boy_” amused him. The lady regarded his mirth with suspicion. Anthony became ponderously official. “Your questions, madam, are embarrassing. But my opinions are—my opinions; and I keep them”—he tapped his forehead solemnly—“here.” Awe-stricken eyes were rolled at him. “Oh, colonel,” she whispered. “Oh, colonel! How _won-derful_!” Then, coyly: “How lucky for little me that I’m a poor, weak woman!” “I have always,” said Anthony gravely, “believed in equal rights for women. They occupy an equal footing with men in my—opinions.” He bowed and brushed past her, crossing the hall. Chapter XI. The Bow and Arrow Without a glance behind him at the beautiful lady, Anthony make for the study, entered it, and closed the door behind him. The great room bore an aspect widely different from that of his first visit. Down the centre ran the long trestle table of the coroner’s court. Two smaller ones were ranged along the walls. The far end of the room was blocked with rows of chairs.