.

an hour or so later, and then go calmly up to her mother’s room as though nothing had happened.”

      Lady Mary had lost some of her confidence, but she was not daunted.

      “Even if we have been deceived in the girl,” she said, thoughtfully—“even if she were disposed to flirt with other men—even then there might be a stronger motive than ever for her wishing to get rid of Abbott. He may have become jealous, and threatened her.”

      “It is, of course, possible,” Ruff assented, politely. “Your theory would, at any rate, account for your brother’s present attitude.”

      She looked at him steadfastly.

      “You believe, then,” she said, “that my brother shot Austen Abbott?”

      “I do,” he admitted frankly. “So does every man or woman of common sense in London. On the facts as they are stated in the newspapers, with the addition of which I have told you, no other conclusion is possible.”

      Lady Mary rose.

      “Then I may as well go,” she said tearfully.

      “Not at all,” Peter Ruff declared. “Listen. This is a matter of business with me. I say that on the facts as they are known, your brother’s guilt appears indubitable. I do not say that there may not be other facts in the background which alter the state of affairs. If you wish me to search for them, engage me, and I will do my best.”

      “Isn’t that what I am here for?” the girl exclaimed.

      “Very well,” Peter Ruff said. “My services are at your disposal.”

      “You will do your best—more than your best, won’t you?” she begged. “Remember that he is my brother—my favourite brother!”

      “I will do what can be done,” Peter Ruff promised. “Please sit down at that desk and write me two letters of introduction.”

      She drew off her gloves and prepared to obey him.

      “To whom?” she asked.

      “To the solicitors who are defending your brother,” he said, “and to Miss Letty Shaw.”

      “You mean to go and see her?” Lady Mary asked, doubtfully.

      “Naturally,” Peter Ruff answered. “If your supposition is correct, she might easily give herself away under a little subtle cross-examination. It is my business to know how to ask people questions in such a way that if they do not speak the truth their words give some indication of it. If she is innocent I shall know that I have to make my effort in another direction.”

      “What other direction can there be?” Lady Mary asked dismally.

      Peter Ruff said nothing. He was too kind-hearted to kindle false hopes.

      “It’s a hopeless case, of course,” Miss Brown remarked, after Lady Mary had departed.

      “I’m afraid so,” Peter Ruff answered. “Still I must earn my money. Please get some one to take you to supper to-night at the Milan, and see if you can pick up any scandal.”

      “About Letty?” she asked.

      “About either of them,” he answered. “Particularly I should like to know if any explanation has cropped up of her supping alone with Austen Abbott.”

      “I don’t see why you can’t take me yourself,” she remarked. “You are on the side of the law this time, at any rate.”

      “I will,” he answered, after a moment’s hesitation. “I will call for you at eleven o’clock to-night.”

      He rose and closed his desk emphatically.

      “You are going out?” she asked.

      “I am going to see Miss Letty Shaw,” he answered.

      He took a taxicab to the flats, and found a handful of curious people still gazing up at the third floor. The parlourmaid who answered his summons was absolutely certain that Miss Shaw would not see him. He persuaded her, after some difficulty, to take in his letter while he waited in the hall. When she returned, she showed him into a small sitting room and pulled down the blinds.

      “Miss Shaw will see you, sir, for a few minutes,” she announced, in a subdued tone. “Poor dear young lady,” she continued, “she has been crying her eyes out all the morning.”

      “No wonder,” Peter Ruff said, sympathetically. “It’s a terrible business, this!”

      “One of the nicest young men as ever walked,” the girl declared, firmly. “As for that brute, he deserved all he’s got, and more!”

      Peter Ruff was left alone for nearly a quarter of an hour. Then the door was softly opened and Letty Shaw entered. There was no doubt whatever about her suffering. Ruff, who had seen her only lately at the theatre, was shocked. Under her eyes were blacker lines than her pencil had ever traced. Not only was she ghastly pale, but her face seemed wan and shrunken. She spoke to him the moment she entered, leaning with on hand upon the sideboard.

      “Lady Mary writes that you want to help us,” she said. “How can you? How is it possible?”

      Even her voice had gone. She spoke hoarsely, and as though short of breath. Her eyes searched his face feverishly. It seemed cruelty not to answer her at once, and Peter Ruff was not a cruel man. Nevertheless, he remained silent, and it seemed to her that his eyes were like points of fire upon her face.

      “What is the matter?” she cried, with breaking voice. “What have you come for? Why don’t you speak to me?”

      “Madam,” Peter Ruff said, “I should like to help you, and I will do what I can. But in order that I may do so, it is necessary that you should answer me two questions—truthfully!”

      Her eyes grew wider. It was the face of a terrified child.

      “Why not?” she exclaimed. “What have I to conceal?”

      Peter Ruff’s expression never changed. There was nothing about him, as he stood there with his hands behind him, his head thrown a little forward, in the least inspiring—nothing calculated to terrify the most timid person. Yet the girl looked at him with the eyes of a frightened bird.

      “Remember, then,” he continued, smoothly, “that what you say to me is sacred. You and I are alone without witnesses or eavesdroppers. Was it Brian Sotherst who shot Abbott—or was it you?”

      She gave a little cry. Her hands clasped the sides of her head in horror.

      “I!” she exclaimed, “I! God help me!”

      He waited. In a moment she looked up.

      “You cannot believe that,” she said, with a calmness for which he was scarcely prepared. “It is absurd. I left the room by the inner door as he took up his hat to step out into the hall.”

      “Incidentally,” he asked—“this is not my other question, mind—why did you not let him out yourself?”

      “We had disagreed,” she answered, curtly.

      Peter Ruff bent his head in assent.

      “I see,” he remarked. “You had disagreed. Abbott probably hoped that you would relent, so he waited for a few minutes. Brian Sotherst, who had escaped from his engagement in time, he thought, to come and wish you good night, must have walked in and found him there. By the bye, how would Captain Sotherst get in?”

      “He had a key,” the girl answered. “My mother lives here with me, and we have only one maid. It was more convenient. I gave him one washed in gold for a birthday present only a few days ago.”

      “Thank you,” Peter Ruff said. “The revolver, I understand, was your property?”

      She nodded.

      “It was a present from Brian,” she said. “He gave it to me in a joke, and