Scarse rose and paced up and down the room. "I was the man, I tell you, who wore the scarf," he said for the third time, "and I never even saw Malet on that night. I have no brother, no relatives of any kind, save your aunt, Mrs. St. Leger." "You won't trust me?" said Brenda, sadly. "There is nothing more to say," replied her father, his features set hard as a flint. "It is useless my giving you the facts if you won't believe them. I have no idea who the man was who was seen at the station. Van Zwieten said nothing to me about it. I am the man Harold took for a stranger, and I cut Captain Burton because I dislike him very much. I did not see Mr. Malet--certainly I did not kill him--and--and I have no more to say." "How do you account for that piece of crape in the hand of----" "Brenda!" interrupted he, turning on her, "I could give you an explanation of that which would amaze you; but I will rest content with saying that the scrap you refer to was not torn off the scarf I wore. I burnt the scarf after I had had it on once, because I thought--well, because I thought it was foolish of me." "Father, I am certain you are not speaking openly." "No, I am not. If I did, you would at once see that you were wrong in suspecting me of this crime. I am not guilty of it." "No, I don't think you are," said Brenda; "but you are shielding some one." "Perhaps I am," replied he, smiling sourly; "but not the stranger you have invented--he does not exist." He paused, and then asked abruptly, "Has Burton mentioned this matter to any one?" "Only to me. For your sake he keeps silent." "Oh!" Scarse smiled sourly again. "I suppose he thinks he'll force me into consenting to your engagement that way. But he won't. You shall marry Van Zwieten." Brenda rose and drew her cloak around her. "I have told you I will marry no one but Harold," she said coldly. "There is no need to discuss the matter further. My cab is waiting, so I'll drive on to Aunt Judy's." "With your mind somewhat more at rest, I trust," said he, as she unfastened the door. "Yes, so far as you personally are concerned. But you know who murdered that man, and you are shielding him." "I deny that!" Then, as she went out of the door, he ran after her, and said in a loud whisper, "Think if there is no one else who wears crape at Chippingholt?" Before she could make reply to this he closed the door. She did not pay much attention to it, because she had made up her mind about the stranger, whom she felt convinced her father was shielding. She went down the stairs and got into her cab. In a few moments she was again in Piccadilly on her way west. There at Aunt Judy's she felt sure at least of a warm welcome.