"No," he rejoined promptly, "if I were, I should be an accomplice after the fact. All the same----" He paused, looking paler than ever, and his face became peaked and haggard. "Don't ask me anything yet," he murmured. "I am willing to trust you, dear," said Bella quietly, "but, as you remarked yourself some time ago, other people----" He interrupted her. "Other people?" "Yes. Some one else did see you on that evening." "The person saw my double," corrected Cyril. "I was in London, as I told you, and as I can prove. Who is this person?" "Silas Pence." "Ah!" Lister's hands clenched. "He hates me because you are to be my wife. He will go to the police." "I don't think so," said Bella slowly. "He threatened to go, but as yet he has held his tongue." "Why, when he hates me so?" "I think--I think," said Bella slowly, "that Mr. Pence knows more about this matter than he chooses to admit." Cyril uttered an exclamation. "Do you suspect him?" "Not of the murder," she replied promptly; "he is too weak and timid a creature to commit a crime. But I know that he was poor; now he is unexpectedly rich, and we are aware," she added with emphasis, "that one hundred pounds was stolen from my father's safe on the night of the murder." "But surely you do not connect a harmless man, like Pence, with the crime?" "I say nothing, because I know nothing, Cyril. But if Mr. Pence is entirely innocent, why does he not accuse you, whom he hates." "He has no grounds to go upon, dear." Bella shook her head. "He thinks that he has," she answered, "as he believed it was you he saw when he met your double at the boundary channel. Since he would like to see you in trouble, the very fact that he delays telling the police shows that his own conscience is not easy." "It is strange," assented Lister. "However, if he does accuse me, I can prove an _alibi_." "But what about your double?" The young man turned away abruptly to the window. "I can say nothing on that point at present." "When will you explain?" "I can't say; sooner or later." Lister, with his hands in his pockets, looked out of the window as though to avoid further questioning. This behaviour puzzled Bella, as she felt sure that Cyril could tell her much if inclined to do so. But it was odd that he should so decline. She abruptly reverted to an earlier thought in her mind. "You did not tell me that you had a negro servant called Durgo." Lister wheeled sharply. "I have no servant, negro or otherwise," he said in a decisive tone. "Why do you say that?" Bella, wondering still more, gave him details, which Cyril heard with a perplexed frown. He made no comment until she had finished. "You say that this man recognised my portrait. In that case I can guess"--he did not finish his sentence, but became paler than ever. CHAPTER XI A RECOGNITION