Pablo, busy in clearing off the dining room table, scurried into the hall and the murmur of voices sounded first faintly and then came distinctly to their ears. The three men gazed blankly at each other as Pablo pulled back the portières. "Mees Carter," he announced and discreetly vanished. "Betty!" Alan was the first on his feet. "Why are you here?" Betty's glance swept by him to Roberts and then to her host. "I wish to see you, Guy Trenholm," she said. "Why have you put a guard around the vault where Paul lies?" As she came further into the library, the men saw that the hem of her short walking suit and her high boots were splashed with mud. Trenholm pulled back a chair and stepped toward her. "So that his grave will not be molested," he replied quietly. "There are ghouls who, attracted by the newspaper accounts of Paul's tragic death, would not hesitate to enter the vault if given an opportunity. You have been there to-night?" "That is obvious," with a glance at her muddy condition and the smart walking stick which she carried. Her hair, naturally curly, showed under the brim of her sport hat, and her cheeks were rosy from the cold night air. But to Trenholm's keen vision, there was a strained look about her eyes, a continuous twitching of her hands which betrayed nerves keyed to the highest tension. "Doctor Roberts," she turned impulsively to the older man, ignoring Alan, "has Sheriff Trenholm told you his theory of the murder?" Roberts looked from her to Trenholm. "No," he replied, and would have added more, but Trenholm cut in. "I have not discussed my theories with any one," he said smoothly. "But your suggestion is a good one. Sit here," dragging forward a chair, "and we will talk the situation over. Doctor Roberts, you and Alan--and perhaps"--his smile was enigmatic. He did not complete his sentence, but waited patiently for Betty to seat herself. With a swift glance about her she mastered her hesitation--her inclination to run away. She had come there with a purpose, and until that was accomplished--her fingers clenched about her stick; it required all her self-control not to strike the tall man at her elbow. He dwarfed her in size, but the smoldering resentment in her eyes flamed up as he bent toward her. "Do sit down," repeated Trenholm with gentle insistence. "Take your old chair, Roberts," and he dropped into one next the physician as Alan and Betty followed his example. "Now, Miss Carter--" he prompted.