"Don't you be afraid about that, sir," said the man quietly. "I don't wonder at you. It did look suspicious, but that's all right, sir. Good-night, gentlemen both." "But your man?" "Close as a nut, sir; aren't you, Jem?" "Rather," said that personage, with a growl. "Night, sir." He slipped out, and the sergeant followed. As Guest was closing the door upon him, he whispered: "Quite upset your friend, sir. Why, he turned ghastly; couldn't have looked worse if we'd found the--" "Exactly. Bad health," said Guest hurriedly. "Good-night." And he closed both doors; and then, with a peculiar sensation of shrinking, turned to face Stratton where he stood by the fireplace. CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. GUEST'S SUGGESTION. Stratton did not move, but stood as if lost in thought, while involuntarily Guest's eyes were directed toward the door on his left. A key had always been visible, in old times, by the handle--a key about which Guest had bantered his friend and cut jokes in which the spirit-stand and Mrs Brade's name were brought into contact. But there was no key there now, and he recalled how Stratton had endeavoured to keep him away from that door. A trifle then, but looking singularly suggestive now. A dozen little facts began to grow and spread into horrors, all pointing to the cause of Stratton's sudden change, and strengthening Guest's ideas that there must have been a quarrel on the morning appointed for the wedding, possibly connected with money matters, and then in a fit of rage and excitement--disappointment, perhaps, at not willingly receiving the help he had anticipated--a blow had been struck, one that unintentionally had proved fatal. All Guest's ideas set in this direction, and once started everything fitted in exactly, so that at last he felt perfectly convinced that his friend had killed Brettison and in some way disposed of the body. For a moment he was disposed to cast the ideas out as utterly absurd and improbable, but the ideas would flow back again; and, try how he would to find some better solution of the puzzle, there seemed to be only that one way. Stratton stood there by the fireplace, pale, haggard, and wrapped in thought, apparently utterly unconscious of his friend's presence, till Guest took a step or two forward and rested his hand upon the table. Here he remained for a few minutes, trying to think out his course. For he felt now full of a guilty knowledge, and in that knowledge, if he did not make it known, a sharer--an accomplice--in a murder. For so the law and the world would judge it. And then there was Edie!