"I don't know what you are talking about," I retorted, turning my back on her. "And anyhow, I regard your suggestion as immoral." But when I turned again, she had gone. That Saturday afternoon at four o'clock the body of Allan Fleming was brought home, and placed in state in the music-room of the house. Miss Jane had been missing since Thursday night. I called Hunter by telephone, and he had nothing to report. CHAPTER XI A NIGHT IN THE FLEMING HOME I had a tearful message from Hawes late that afternoon, and a little after five I went to the office. I found him offering late editions of the evening paper to a couple of clients, who were edging toward the door. His expression when he saw me was pure relief, the clients', relief strongly mixed with irritation. I put the best face on the matter that I could, saw my visitors, and left alone, prepared to explain to Hawes what I could hardly explain to myself. "I've been unavoidably detained, Hawes," I said, "Miss Jane Maitland has disappeared from her home." "So I understood you over the telephone." He had brought my mail and stood by impassive. "Also, her brother-in-law is dead." "The papers are full of it." "There was no one to do anything, Hawes. I was obliged to stay," I apologized. I was ostentatiously examining my letters and Hawes said nothing. I looked up at him sideways, and he looked down at me. Not a muscle of his face quivered, save one eye, which has a peculiar twitching of the lid when he is excited. It gave him a sardonic appearance of winking. He winked at me then. "Don't wait, Hawes," I said guiltily, and he took his hat and went out. Every line of his back was accusation. The sag of his shoulders told me I had let my biggest case go by default that day; the forward tilt of his head, that I was probably insane; the very grip with which he seized the door-knob, his "good night" from around the door, that he knew there was a woman at the bottom of it all. As he closed the door behind him I put down my letters and dropped my face in my hands. Hawes was right. No amount of professional zeal could account for the interest I had taken. Partly through force of circumstances, partly of my own volition, I had placed myself in the position of first friend to a family with which I had had only professional relations; I had even enlisted Edith, when my acquaintance with Margery Fleming was only three days old! And at the thought of the girl, of Wardrop's inefficiency and my own hopelessness, I groaned aloud. I had not heard the door open. "I forgot to tell you that a gentleman was here half a dozen times to-day to see you. He didn't give any name." I dropped my hands. From around the door Hawes' nervous eye was winking wildly. "You're not sick, Mr. Knox?" "Never felt better." "I thought I heard--" "I was singing," I lied, looking him straight in the eye. He backed nervously to the door.