"But who could possibly have any motive for the poor little woman's death?" he asked, with a puzzled, rather anxious expression upon his grey brow. "The lover may have wished to get rid of her," I suggested. "You speak rather ungenerously, Boyd," he protested. "Remember, we don't know for certain that there was a lover in the case, and we should surely accept the rumours of country yokels with considerable hesitation." "I make no direct accusation," I said. "I merely give as my opinion that she was murdered by the man she was evidently in the habit of meeting. That's all." "Well, if that is so, then I hope the police will be successful in making an arrest," declared the old physician. "Poor little woman! When is the funeral?" "The day after to-morrow." "I must send a wreath. How sad it is! How very sad!" And he sighed sympathetically, and sat staring with fixed eyes at the dark green wall opposite. "It's time you caught your train," I remarked, glancing at the clock. "No," he answered. "I'm dining at the House of Commons to-night with my friend Houston. I shall remain in town all night. I so very seldom allow myself any dissipation," and he smiled rather sadly. Truly he led an anchorite's life, going to and fro with clockwork regularity, and denying himself all those diversions in Society which are ever at the command of a notable man. Very rarely did he accept an invitation to dine, and the fact that he lived down at Hove was in order to have a good excuse to evade people. He was a great man, with all a great man's little eccentricities. The two following days passed uneventfully. Each evening, about ten, Ambler Jevons came in to smoke and drink. He stayed an hour, apparently nervous, tired, and fidgety in a manner quite unusual; but to my inquiries regarding the success of his investigations he remained dumb. "Have you discovered anything?" I asked, eagerly, on the occasion of his second visit. He hesitated, at length answering---- "Yes--and no. I must see Ethelwynn without delay. Telegraph and ask her to meet you here. I want to ask her a question." "Do you still suspect her?" He shrugged his shoulders with an air of distinct vagueness. "Wire to her to-night," he urged. "Your man can take the message down to the Charing Cross office, and she'll get it at eight o'clock in the morning. The funeral is over, so there is nothing to prevent her coming to town." I was compelled to agree to his suggestion, although loth to again bring pain and annoyance to my love. I knew how she had suffered when, a few days ago, I had questioned her, and I felt convinced by her manner that, although she had refused to speak, she herself was innocent. Her lips were sealed by word of honour.