"No. Don't ask me to. Perhaps later on." She seemed greatly distressed. "You see it's a terrible thing for me to give the name of a person who might be accused of the crime. If this person was hanged, even if guilty, I should not be able to rest in my bed." She shuddered and burst into tears. "My position is very hard," she wailed. "But I can assist you if you will speak plainly." She shook her head. "I cannot speak plainer than I am doing. Later on, yes, later on, I may tell you, but just now I dare not--I dare not," and again she began to weep. As it was evident that she had some strong reason to conceal the name of this mysterious person I did not press her further, although I was most anxious to learn all about the matter. Instead, I asked another question in soothing tones. "How did you leave?" "By the back door," said Gertrude, drying her eyes. "In that way I escaped coming face to face with the person in question." "But there is no gate out of the back yard by which you could escape. I examined the fence myself." "You did not examine it carefully enough. The gate is at the side of the house, and is exactly like the fence. When it is closed no one could tell that there was a gate. I expect that is why you overlooked it. Outside the gate, a path led amongst those elm-trees some little distance, until it came out on to the high road some distance down the slope. I went along the path, and on gaining the road I walked to Murchester, where I caught the half-past six train. So you see that I had nothing to do with the murder. I was horrified when I heard of it, and seeing the danger I was in of being suspected, I held my peace. I even denied to Aunt Julia that I had been to Mootley at all, saying that I had changed my mind." I recalled the conversation with Miss Destiny, and recognized that Gertrude was speaking the exact truth. "Mrs. Caldershaw was alive and well when you left her?" I asked, rising to drag out my portmanteau. "Quite well. What are you doing?" "I'll show you in one moment. Mrs. Caldershaw did not appear to be afraid of being killed?" "No; she was quite her usual self." "Did you take your cloak with you?" "My cloak?" She rose, much agitated. "How do you know that I wore a cloak?" "You must have had one to take such a journey," I said evasively. "Yes," replied Gertrude, somewhat reassured; "but--oh!" she gasped, as I displayed the garment I had produced from the portmanteau. "Yes," I said, unfolding it, "this is the cloak worn by the lady who took my motor car. I found it concealed in the field. And it is your cloak?" "Yes," she admitted with white lips, "it is my cloak." CHAPTER XIII. LOVE We stared at one another for quite sixty seconds: she standing white-faced and tongue-tied near her chair, I kneeling by the open portmanteau to display the cloak. When I would have spoken, she flung up a protesting hand to silence me. "How do you know it is my cloak?"