Jenny stood up, and tucked the music book under her arm. The recollection of Kerry's anger made her feel that she was unwise to talk so freely to a stranger about the matter. Hitherto, Tait had taken his own way; now she was resolved to take hers. "I don't want to speak any more about it," she said resolutely. "I am very sorry I told Frank the story, and meddled with those papers. Let me pass, Mr. Tait, and drop the subject." "No, don't do that," cried Tait, rising in his turn, and barring her way. "You must not fail me at the eleventh hour. My friend is bent on learning the truth, and surely you will not grudge him help. Remember it is the murderer of his father whom he desires to bring to justice." "I can't say any more. I know no more, Mr. Tait. Do you know what I am about to do?" "No," said Tait, looking at her grave face in some wonder. "I am going home to tell my father and Kerry what use I made of those papers. If I have acted wrongly, it is but right that they should know." "They will know shortly without your telling, Miss Jenny." "Ah, you intend to speak of the matter yourself?" "Perhaps! But in this case I allude to Hilliston." "Hilliston!" repeated Jenny, in surprise. "What has he to do with the matter?" "A great deal, I fancy. More than you or I suspect. He is now at Eastbourne, and I am certain he will come over here to see you to-morrow." "To see me! Why?" "Because he wants you to hold your tongue about these matters." "Mr. Tait," she cried, with a sudden flush, "surely you are not biased by Frank's book? You imply that Mr. Hilliston is afraid of the truth." "I think he is! In fact I am sure he is." "Do you believe he committed that cowardly crime of twenty-five years ago?" asked Jenny, with scorn. "What is your own opinion?" was the counter question. "I believe that Jeringham was the murderer. Yes! Captain Larcher went in disguise to that ball, and learned the truth from the lips of his own wife. I believe she loved Jeringham. I believe he followed her home on that fatal night, urging her to fly. Then Captain Larcher appeared on the scene, and in the struggle that ensued he was killed. Jeringham fled, and Mrs. Larcher died. That, I am certain, is the true history of this crime." "You, then, think that Mrs. Larcher was privy to the murder?" "Oh, I don't say that!" said the girl, shrinking back; "it is impossible to say. But I have no right to talk to you about these matters, Mr. Tait. I have told you all I know. Let me pass, please." Tait bowed, and stood aside hat in hand. She flitted down the aisle, a slim girlish figure, and had arrived at the door when his voice arrested her. "One moment, Miss Paynton," he said, following her quickly. "What is it?" "Don't tell your father of this for twenty-four hours." "Why?" "Because I want to prove to you that what I say is true. Hilliston will inform your father himself, and ask you to be silent." "It is too late for that now--unfortunately."