“What figures did you see, Lionel?--Her ladyship must have returned into the house, poor soul, for her maid tells me she had a terrible headache, and came in very soon after she brought her shawl and hat.” “No doubt,” said Lionel, “it could not have been her ladyship.” Poor fellow, what was he to say! “What a tangled thread we weave, when first we practise to deceive!” One lie led to another; with that awful suspicion burning in his heart,--and it would not go, despite all his efforts--Lionel’s chief aim was to shield the Countess. “You heard voices, you say?” “Yes.” “Were you listening to them, or what?” “I did listen a moment or two.” “Why did you listen? what did you suspect?” “I do not know; there are times when we do things the most trivial without being able to explain why or wherefore.” “So there are. Your belief that you heard voices, and the statement that you saw two figures, clearly point to the theory of murder as against suicide.” “Yes,” said Lionel. “How could the murderer have escaped? You were on the spot in an instant almost, it seems.” “I was there very quickly.” “And you saw no one?” “No, only Tallant on the ground.” “From what Masters says, there is no doubt that that fool of a policeman has taken it into his thick head that _you_ killed Richard Tallant,” said his lordship, in a tone of contemptuous coolness. “I thought so last evening, and see it clearly to-day,” said Lionel. “Let him have a care, Lionel, how he tampers with the name and fame of the house of Verner. By heavens I will punish him! The thing is absurd on the face of it.” “I suppose the idea is that a man found by the side of one who is murdered should be able to give a succinct account of his death.” “Once a policeman starts a theory of his own respecting any particular crime, he thinks of nothing else; he follows no clue which does not support that theory; he rejects all evidence that may tell against it; his leading idea is that somebody must be apprehended and convicted for it; and this Brazencrook fellow is a shallow-pated, ambitious booby, whose fingers are itching to have a distinguished prisoner; he is anxious to create a sensation,” said the Earl. And so they continued to talk the affair over, whilst the gossips in the neighbourhood and throughout the country theorised upon it, and cleared up the mystery in their own way. Meanwhile, Lady Verner, to all appearance, continued very ill, and no word concerning recent events was to be whispered in her hearing; but when there was no one present but her maid she brightened up and insisted upon hearing of all that had occurred. Lady Verner was not so ill as she seemed.