"How can I tell?" irritably. "The police say it was suicide, and they ought to know." "The _Times-Post_ says it was murder, and that they will prove it. And they claim the police have been called off." I said nothing of Mr. Lightfoot, and his visit to the office, but I made a mental note to see the _Times-Post_ people and learn, if I could, what they knew. "I can not help thinking that he deserved very nearly what he got," Edith broke in, looking much less vindictive than her words. "When one thinks of the ruin he brought to poor Henry Butler, and that Ellen has been practically an invalid ever since, I can't be sorry for him." "What was the Butler story?" I asked. But Fred did not know, and Edith was as vague as women usually are in politics. "Henry Butler was treasurer of the state, and Mr. Fleming was his cashier. I don't know just what the trouble was. But you remember that Henry Butler killed himself after he got out of the penitentiary, and Ellen has been in one hospital after another. I would like to have her come here for a few weeks, Fred," she said appealingly. "She is in some sanatorium or other now, and we might cheer her a little." Fred groaned. "Have her if you like, petty," he said resignedly, "but I refuse to be cheerful unless I feel like it. What about this young Wardrop, Jack? It looks to me as if the _Times-Post_ reporter had a line on him." "Hush," Edith said softly. "He is Margery's fiancé, and she might hear you." "How do you know?" Fred demanded. "Did she tell you?" "Look at her engagement ring," Edith threw back triumphantly. "And it's a perfectly beautiful solitaire, too." I caught Fred's eye on me, and the very speed with which he shifted his gaze made me uncomfortable. I made my escape as soon as I could, on the plea of going out to Bellwood, and in the hall up-stairs I met Margery. "I saw Bella to-day," she said. "Mr. Knox, will you tell me why you stayed up last night? What happened in the house?" "I--thought I heard some one in the library," I stammered, "but I found no one." "Is that all the truth or only part of it?" she asked. "Why do men always evade issues with a woman?" Luckily, woman-like, she did not wait for a reply. She closed the nursery door and stood with her hand on the knob, looking down. "I wonder what you believe about all this," she said. "Do you think my father--killed himself? You were there; you know. If some one would only tell me everything!" It seemed to me it was her right to know. The boys were romping noisily in the nursery. Down-stairs Fred and Edith were having their Sunday afternoon discussion of what in the world had become of the money from Fred's latest book. Margery and I sat down on the stairs, and, as well as I could remember the details, I told her what had happened at the White Cat. She heard me through quietly.