"What is it?" she asked nervously. "Oh! what is it?" Her nerves were slack, poor girl, from the anxieties of the last week. Jarman did not answer directly. That he should have stumbled on the word "Tamaroo" in this unexpected manner, immediately after telling his story to Frank, surprised him not a little. The coincidence was extraordinary, and, he suspected, providential. He could not see what connection there could be between the murder of Anchor in San Francisco and that of Walter Starth in Sand Lane, but the mysterious word "Tamaroo" seemed to link the two. Perhaps it might prove the clue to the mystery of the last crime. Jarman sat down to hurriedly arrange his thoughts, but he was unable to answer Mildred for a time. After her exclamation she remained quiet, clasping and unclasping her hands, shaken to the core of her soul by the disturbed looks of this ordinarily phlegmatic man. "I don't know what it means," confessed Jarman finally, and looked again at the paper. "This is written by an uneducated person, and by one who knows Lancaster well enough to address him by his Christian name. Who slipped it into your hand?" "I don't know," said Mildred again. "I was passing out with the crowd after the verdict had been given, and I felt this being pushed into my hand. My fingers closed on it mechanically. For the moment I never thought to look round for the person. When I examined it outside it was, of course, too late." "H'm! That's a pity. If we could only find who wrote it there might be some chance of clearing up the mystery." "Then you think there _is_ a mystery, Mr. Jarman?" "About your brother's death? Certainly I do. I know Lancaster very well. Indeed, it was I who introduced him to your brother, and I am absolutely certain that he is not the man to commit so brutal a crime." "But his threats on the previous night?" objected Mildred. "Mere foolish speaking. And, far from proving his guilt, they, to my mind, hint at his innocence. Had he intended to kill your brother he would have been more circumspect in his language." "But if Mr. Lancaster is innocent, why did he run away?" Jarman shrugged his shoulders. "You can't expect a man to have all his wits about him at such a moment. He was"--here Jarman was about to explain the drugging, but on second thoughts he did not think it wise to appear to know too much--"he was in the house alone with your brother, whom he had threatened," he continued, "and when the murder took place saw that there was every chance of his being accused. To avoid being arrested on circumstantial evidence, he fled." "Have you any idea where he is?" asked Miss Starth, quickly. "No," replied Jarman, deliberately. "I have not seen Frank Lancaster for some months. He was always in town, and, as you know, I rarely go up. You believe him to be guilty?" "Everything seems to point to his guilt." "I admit that. But I am convinced from what I know of him that he is perfectly innocent."