"Oh, yes," said the girl, proudly conscious of her own tiger blood, "I can quite understand. I should like to see any woman take Geoffrey from me! Aha!" And she growled like a playful cat. "I believe Mrs. Jenner killed her husband," continued Aunt Inez, taking no notice of this speech, "and she is being punished for it. As to Job--I merely assist him out of charity; he knows nothing about the murder; it had happened before he came to these parts. Now, are you satisfied?" "My dear aunt, I never wanted to be satisfied," replied the girl. "I never thought you knew anything about the murder." "I don't--I don't! I swear I don't!" cried Mrs. Marshall. "But this red pocket-book--it was not mentioned at the trial." "I know nothing about it," said Ruth, promptly; she was not going to be drawn into the discussion. "Ask papa about it." Mrs. Marshall, seeing she would get nothing further out of her niece, returned to the examination of the lumber which was scattered over the floor of the garret. "Then we will go down shortly and have some tea, my dear," she said, in her most amiable tone. She was evidently desirous of effacing the impression of her former fierceness. Ruth wondered but little at her aunt's strange demeanour. In a meditative way she watched Mrs. Marshall moving about on the other side of the garret, so close under the slope of the roof that her head touched it. There were two windows--one at each end, but these were so dirty that the place was enveloped in a kind of brown twilight which had, at first, prevented the girl from seeing plainly. As her eyes grew more accustomed to the semi-gloom, she examined the lumber that was piled up on all sides. All the scum of the house had risen to the top and been left in this isolated attic. It was filled with the wreckage which will accumulate even in the most orderly houses. There were, also, ancient books, piles of newspapers, and suchlike things huddled together pell-mell, and over all lay a thick, grey dust. Suddenly as Ruth, growing tired of waiting, shifted her position, the light from the window behind struck out a patch of red. Her eyes wandered mechanically towards the colour. It was the red morocco binding of a narrow book which protruded from the heap. Hardly thinking what she was doing, the girl picked it up, and with the light from behind her strong upon it she examined it minutely. Then her heart seemed to stand still, for it was a pocket-book--perhaps the very red pocket-book which had been stolen by Jenner's murderer, and of which they had been speaking only a few minutes before. Anxious to make quite certain as to this, Ruth slipped off the elastic strap and examined the discoloured leaves. For the most part they were blank, but written on the front page was a name, and the name was Jenner! At the sight Ruth uttered a cry. Mrs. Marshall turned sharply. CHAPTER XXV. THE RED POCKET-BOOK. "What is the matter, child?" asked Mrs. Marshall, sharply.