"If you had only allowed me to tell Quex about the door being opened he might have traced the assassin." "I don't think so." Brendon shook his head. "It was a foggy night, and whosoever entered would be able to slink away without being seen." "I am not so sure of that. There is only one outlet to the square, and there stands a policeman on guard." "The policeman would not be there all the time," argued Brendon, "to say nothing of the fog, which would hide any one desirous of evading recognition, as the assassin assuredly must have wished." "All the same, I wish I had told Quex." "Well, then, tell him if you like," said George, vexed with this pertinacity. "But you asked me not to." "Only because I fear, with your weak nature, that one question will lead to another, until the whole of my private affairs will come to light. I don't want those to be known at Scotland Yard, let alone the chance that I might be accused of the crime." "Oh, that's ridiculous! You could not have left the sitting-room unless I had let you out, and there is no door from your bedroom." "That is true enough," answered Brendon, with an ironical smile, the significance of which was lost on Train. "But if the whole of my story came to light you might be accused of helping me to get rid of the woman." "I?" Leonard's hair almost rose on end. "How could I be mixed up in it?" "Well, see here," argued Brendon, who thought it just as well to make Train's own safety depend upon the discretion of too free a tongue. "I tell you about this house, and on my recommendation you come here. I come to stop with you and reveal my reasons for coming. These have to do with the possession of a secret by the murdered woman. All that, to a policeman, would be suspicious. What would be easier than for me to go down the stairs and, when the woman refused to confess as to my legitimacy, to stab her? Then I could return to my bed, and you could prove an alibi on my behalf by your tale of having locked the sitting-room door." Train shuddered. "I see how easily we can get into trouble. I shall say nothing. I wish I had not come here. I shall go abroad until all blows over." "Why," said Brendon, in scorn, "what is there to blow over? No more will be heard of this matter if you hold your tongue. The inquest is at an end, the woman will be buried shortly, and you will be back leading your own life. So far as I am concerned you know that I am not guilty, and that I could not have left my room since you locked that special door. Then, as to hearing the front door open, that may have been a hallucination on your part." "No. I am sure it wasn't. I heard distinctly." "Well--" Brendon shrugged his shoulders, but seemed uncomfortable--"I dare say the assassin came and went in that way. But if he, or she, did, the door was found fast locked in the morning, unless Miss Bull is telling a lie." "She might be."