Almost as soon as the Italian went out, Mrs. Berch entered. Since Gerald had seen her last she had greatly aged, and looked more worn and thin than ever in her dark gown. Glancing from the young man to her daughter, she went to the latter and took her hand. "What is the matter, Madge?" she asked, in her stern, cold voice, "why has Signor Venosta left, and why are you shivering? Gerald," she turned to Haskins, "what have you been saying to my daughter?" "Nothing," he answered calmly, "but Signor Venosta has been saying a great deal to both of us." "It is about that coral hand, mother," cried Mrs. Crosbie feverishly, and clinging to Mrs. Berch. "Signor Venosta says that it is the symbol of a society which murders, and for that reason the moneylender was afraid. I wish I had refused Venosta's assistance," she ended. "Why did you talk of these horrors?" asked Mrs. Berch reproachfully, "you know, Gerald, that Madge cannot bear such things." "I am trying to learn who killed Bellaria, Mrs. Berch, and it struck me--since she was afraid of the coral hand--that you told Madge what I told you, and that this being repeated to Venosta, he might have stabbed the woman by order of the Tána Society." "I don't know anything about the Tána Society." "Neither do I; neither do I," muttered Mrs. Crosbie. "And there is no reason why Signor Venosta, who is our friend, should kill Major Rebb's servant," went on Mrs. Berch steadily. "Everyone knows that she was stabbed by that crazy girl." "I don't agree with you," replied Gerald coldly, and prepared to leave. "However, it is useless arguing, I can only apologize to Mrs. Crosbie for having brought up so disagreeable a subject. Good-day." "No," said the widow, rising and recovering her color and nerve, "don't go yet, Gerald. I know that you did not mean any harm, and after all, as Signor Venosta has nothing to do with the death, it matters very little. Had I known when I saw the moneylender what I know now I should never have taken that coral hand. But I have given it back to Signor Venosta, and he will not mention the subject again. Sit down and have another cup of tea." "Do," urged Mrs. Berch, the light coming into her cold eyes. "I think you owe it to Madge to remove the impression of this horror. The whole thing is too fantastical, with its symbols and secret societies and murders in lonely houses. We live in the twentieth century, and these things belong to fiction." "The last does not," replied Haskins dryly: "Bellaria was certainly murdered at the Pixy's House." "And by that crazy girl," insisted Mrs. Berch. "I hope she will be caught and shut up in an asylum. It is not safe to let such a creature go at large." Haskins defended Mavis no longer, as he was afraid that the two women, both keen-eyed and clever, might guess his secret knowledge of the girl's whereabouts. "Let us change the subject," he said, taking a fresh cup of tea from Mrs. Crosbie's hand. "I hope you enjoyed yourselves at Bognor?"