"Because I see no clue to follow. Moreover, Gertrude wishes me to stop looking into the matter. And after all, it is no use sullying our love with the sordid details of this crime. Yet, yet"--I rose in my earnestness--"Cannington, although you are years younger than I am, I intend to ask your advice." "Yes--that's all right. What is it?" "I shall tell you all I know, and then you can judge what I mean." The boy looked puzzled, but sat down again and lent an attentive ear to my recital. I walked up and down the room, telling everything in detail, for I really did wish to hear what he thought. Cannington was young, but shrewd, and took a common-sense view of things. Gertrude's refusal to tell me the name of the person who had driven her from the shop lingered in my mind, as I knew we could never be completely happy if there were secrets between us. Nevertheless, I could not reveal what she had said on this point to Cannington, as it was a matter entirely between ourselves. But I intended to tell him everything else, and then ask him what he thought of the position of affairs. He waited with a grave face. I therefore related all that I had discovered, beginning with the finding of the white cloak in the field, and ending with an account of the interview between Gertrude and myself, suppressing, as I have said, the fact that she withheld the name of the mysterious person. Cannington, with his eyes on my face, listened intently, and without interruption. He was acute enough to put his finger on the weak spot. "Who was the person who entered the shop when Miss Monk went away?" "I don't know," said truthfully, and glided into an easy explanation to preserve my secret. "Mrs. Caldershaw wished Miss Monk to leave without seeing the person, and therefore sent her out by the back door so hurriedly that she forgot the cloak and one of her hat-pins." "That's unfortunate," muttered Cannington, his eyes on the carpet; "perhaps this person killed Mrs. Caldershaw." I had Gertrude's assertion that this was not the case, but for obvious reasons could not impart the information to Cannington. "We can't be sure of that," I said smoothly. "We can't be sure of anything," insisted the boy thoughtfully, "still Miss Monk evidently left someone with Mrs. Caldershaw, and when you arrived on the scene Mrs. Caldershaw was dead. It seems to be that the lady killed her." "The lady? Why do you think that this person was a lady?" "Well, a woman, a female, what you will," he said impatiently. "She assumed the white cloak which was left behind in the kitchen, and ran off with your motor car." "And with the eye?" "Ah, I can't say I'm sure on that point," said Cannington musingly. "You see the eye turned up--so you say--at the Burwain house. I think----" He paused. "Yes; go on," said I encouragingly.