"Of course. And for the present she must be allowed to remain in that belief," Eric replied. "I wonder who the man Parham is? We must inquire. On Sydenham Hill are some rather nice houses. I once knew a rather pretty girl who lived in that neighbourhood, and used to take her for evening walks up the hill to the Crystal Palace." "Yes," I said. "We must discover all we can about the dead man's friends. We must also call and see the pawnbroker in the Fulham Road. He may be able to tell us who pledged the watch and ring. Indeed, we might get them out of pawn and see whether there are any remarks or inscription that will tell us anything." With my suggestion he entirely agreed, and for a second time we re-read those curious letters of the woman who was now flying into hiding, and whom I had promised to meet and assist. I had placed myself in a very difficult and dangerous position. Of that I was well aware. I hoped, however, to save her. Too well I knew that she was in desperation, that she had seriously contemplated suicide until she had resolved to make her appeal for my sympathy and help. Yet she was under the impression that I was as yet in ignorance of this tragedy, although in her white, terrified countenance I saw guilt distinctly written. I took counsel with Eric. He was entirely against the very dangerous part that I had now promised to play, saying,--"I can't for the life of me see what motive she can have. To hide is all very well--to bury herself in a working-class suburb and pretend to be poor is certainly a much safer plan than endeavouring to slip across to the Continent. But why does she want you to act as her husband? Not for appearances' sake, surely! And yet if she hadn't a very strong motive she would not thus run the very great risk of compromising herself. She respects you, too, therefore all the stronger reason why she would never ask you to place yourself in that awkward position. No, old fellow," he declared, seating himself upon the edge of my bed, "I can't make it out at all." "Of course, it has to do with the affair of yesterday," I remarked. "Undoubtedly. It has some connection with it, but what it is we can't yet discern." "I can only act as she suggests," I remarked. "I fear you can't do anything else," he said, after a pause. "Only you'll have to be most careful and circumspect, for I can foresee danger ahead. Tibbie's clever enough, but she is erratic sometimes, and one untimely word of hers may upset everything. I hardly like the idea of you posing as her husband, Wilfrid. I tell you plainly that I have some distinct premonition of evil--forgive me for saying so." "I hope not. I'm only consenting to it for her sake." "Because you are still just a little bit fond of her, old fellow. Now, confess it." "I'm not, Eric. I swear to you I'm not. We could never marry. We are no longer lovers."