"I have known him from a boy," the merchant said, looking up, a hand on either knee, and speaking with a simplicity almost majestic, "and never knew him do a mean thing, madam. I know no more than that." And he looked round on us. "That is a good deal; still, he went off in a fit of jealousy when Master Carey brought Dymphna home. We must remember that." "Yes, I would he knew the rights of that matter," said the Dutchman heartily. "And he has been hanging about the place all day," my lady persisted. "Yes," Master Lindstrom rejoined patiently; "yet I do not think he did this." "Then who did?" she said, somewhat nettled. That was the question. I had my opinion, as I saw Master Bertie and the Duchess had. I did not doubt it was Van Tree. Yet a thought struck me. "It might be well," I suggested, "that some one should ask Mistress Anne whether the door was open when she left the room. She passed out just in front of me." "But she does not go by the door," my lady objected. "No, she would turn at once and go upstairs," I agreed. "But she could see the door from the foot of the stairs--if she looked that way, I mean." The Duchess assented, and went out of the room to put the question. We three, left together, sat staring at the dull flame of the lamp, and were for the most part silent, Master Bertie only remarking that it was after midnight. The suspicion he and I entertained of Van Tree's guilt seemed to raise a barrier between us and our host. My wound, slight as it was, smarted and burned, and my head ached. After midnight, was it? What a day it had been! When the Duchess came back, as she did in a few minutes, both Anne and Dymphna came with her. The girls had risen hastily, and were shivering with cold and alarm. Their eyes were bright, their manner was excited. They were full of sympathy and horror and wonder, as was natural; of nervous fear for themselves, too. But my lady cut short their exclamations. "Anne says she did not notice the door," she said. "No," the girl answered, trembling visibly as she spoke. "I went up straight to bed. But who could it be? Did you see nothing of him as he struck you? Not a feature? Not an outline?" "No," I murmured. "Did he not say a word?" she continued, with strange insistence. "Was he tall or short?" Her dark eyes dwelling on mine seemed to probe my thoughts, as though they challenged me to keep anything back from her. "Was it the man you hurt this morning?" she suggested. "No," I answered reluctantly. "This man was short." "Short, was he? Was it Master Van Tree, then?" We, who felt also certain that it was Van Tree, started, nevertheless, at hearing the charge put into words before Dymphna. I wondered, and I think the others did, too, at Mistress Anne's harshness. Even my lady, so blunt and outspoken by nature, had shrunk from trying to question the Dutch girl about her lover. We looked at Dymphna, wondering how she would take it.