“No, Hungerford. I will not talk about it, even. If you believe me capable of deceiving you, I have not a word to say.” “Dick, will you answer me one question?” demanded Eugene, earnestly. “I will.” “Did you see Buckstone last night?” “No.” Eugene was staggered by this reply--a single, plain, unadorned negative. “How is it possible?” continued he, “that----” “I will answer no more questions,” interposed Dick, firmly. “You would not believe me if I did; and my self-respect does not permit me to speak when my truthfulness is suspected. To the sheriff, to the court, I can do this; to you I cannot. If others do not believe me, I will not complain; they have no reason to trust me.” “I will believe you--I do believe you,” protested Eugene. “You will try to do so, doubtless. Your conversation since tea, you told me just now, related to me.” “How could it relate to any other person or thing, after what occurred on the beach to-night?” “With the sheriff, you tried to prove that I left the house last night, after you retired--so Parkinson tells me,” added Dick, bitterly. “On the contrary, we tried to prove that you had _not_ left the house.” Perhaps the sheriff was trying to prove one thing while Eugene tried to prove the opposite. “It would be better to say we were trying to ascertain the truth,” added Dr. Bilks. Dick looked at the doctor, as though a word from him was out of place; but he said nothing. “Of what else do you suspect me, Hungerford?” “I suspect you of nothing, Dick. It is cruel for you to put yourself in such an attitude.” “I am under suspicion: can you deny this, Hungerford?” Eugene bit his lip. He could not equivocate. He was perplexed with many doubts. It seemed impossible that any other person than Dick should have been the man with Buckstone on the beach, and it was just as impossible that his friend should utter a deliberate falsehood. The evidence of the handkerchief and cigar, and the opinion of Ross Kingman, were hardly needed, though everything was against Dick. “You do not answer.” “I cannot deny that I have believed you were the person, Dick.” “That is quite enough, Hungerford. My relations with you and yours are too delicate, too important, to be trifled with for an instant. If you can believe, if you can suspect, that I was in treaty with Buckstone, as represented, it follows that I was doing so from personal and selfish motives.” “Not at all, Dick; there may have been a dozen reasons why you should have conducted such a negotiation privately. I had no doubt of your motives.” “You must have doubted them; but I do not blame you, Hungerford. Dr. Bilks had probably told you my views in regard to Mary. I was afraid you would marry her.” “We have been entirely free in this matter,” said Dr. Bilks, in silky, apologetic tones.