"Oh, not that business!" sighed Larcher wearily. "I don't believe we'll do any good with it. The mystery of my father's death is likely to remain one to the end of time for all I can see. Every trace is obliterated by the snows of twenty-five years." "Not entirely, my friend. For instance, I have learned an important fact to-day." "From Miss Paynton?" "Yes. We had a long conversation, and she was considerably startled when she learned the object of your visit here." "Was it wise of you to tell her?" "Why, yes," returned Tait decidedly. "We can do nothing without her help, and that she will refuse to give us unless she learns the reason of our inquiries." "What is her opinion of the matter? The same as Linton's, I suppose?" "By no means. She thinks that Jeringham killed your father; but I am not altogether sure that she does not suspect Hilliston. After all, she may come round to Linton's opinion before long." "Did you tell her that we suspected Hilliston?" asked Claude anxiously. "Not directly. But I permitted myself to hint as much. However, I only aided the seed of suspicion to sprout, for it was already implanted in her mind. You look astonished, Claude, but recall to your recollection the report of that case, and you will see that Hilliston was far too much mixed up in the matter to be as ignorant as he pretended to be at the trial. According to his evidence he had not left the ballroom, and consequently could have known nothing of the tragedy which was then being enacted at The Laurels. Yet, he knows details which, so far as I can see, prove him to have been an eye-witness." Claude jumped to his feet, and began restlessly pacing up and down the gravel walk. He yet retained some belief in Hilliston, and was reluctant to think that one to whom he owed so much should be guilty of so foul a crime. It was true that certain circumstances looked black against him, but these were purely theoretical, and by no means founded on absolute facts. After due consideration Claude inclined to the belief that Tait was too easily satisfied of Hilliston's guilt, and was willing to accept any stray facts likely to confirm his theory. Thus biased he could not possibly look on the matter in a fair and equable manner. The wish was altogether too greatly father to the thought. "I don't think you give Hilliston a fair show, Tait," he said, stepping before his friend. "If he winks an eye you look on it as a sign of his guilt. My mother assured me solemnly that Hilliston was at the ball when the tragedy occurred." "Oh, in that case, I have nothing more to say," said Tait coldly. "Still," he added rather spitefully, "I should like to know why Mr. Hilliston is so anxious to keep the matter quiet." "Tait!" said Claude hoarsely, sitting down by his friend and seizing his arm; "do you know I have often asked myself that question, and I have found a reply thereto; the only reply of which I can think."