"Guilty of what?" she demanded, flushing darkly.

"Guilty of causing Miss Lawrence's flight," I answered bluntly. "Of wrecking her life."

"Do you believe that?"

"I know it!"

She laughed scornfully.

"You know a great deal, it seems."

"More than you think," I retorted.

She flushed again, and bit her lips to restrain their trembling.

"Though there's one thing I don't know," I went on, determined to strike home, if I could. "I can't imagine why Miss Lawrence should have chosen your house as a place of refuge. She must know that you hate her-that you waited, like a snake in ambush, for the moment when the blow would pierce most deeply; she must see that you are using her to avenge yourself--"

A sharp click interrupted me, and I found myself in darkness. I heard the closing of a door, the turning of a lock. When, after a moment's groping along the wall, I found the electric b.u.t.ton and switched on the light again, I saw that the door leading from the library to the hall was closed. I tried it-it was locked.

"Good-night, Mr. Lester," called a low mocking voice from the other side. "Please turn off the light before you go, and close the window after you. Another thing-I'd advise you not to disturb my sister again to-night; it would really not be safe. And I hope you'll let me know when you succeed in clearing up those little points you were speaking of-I'm immensely interested in them."

She laughed again, and I heard her footsteps die away down the hall.

Feeling absurdly foolish, I switched off the light, and left the house. Plainly, Lucy Kingdon had ceased to fear me. She believed that she had won the fight, that her position was impregnable. Either she thought that Marcia Lawrence had escaped, that we had not traced her to the Umbria, or she knew that the telegram was a blind, and that we had been misled by it. Which was right, I wondered. And she must have come off well, too, in that interview with Mrs. Lawrence, which I would have given so much to have overheard-must have convinced her of her innocence, else she would not still be employed as a maid in the Lawrence house, and retained so near her mistress. How had she done it? How had she succeeded in blinding her mistress so completely?

Then a sudden thought stabbed through me. Was it possible, I asked myself, that Mrs. Lawrence had been a party to the deception-that she had knowingly a.s.sisted in the farce of the telegram, for my benefit? But, as I reviewed her behaviour at our morning interview, I could not believe it. She was no such consummate actress as that would imply. If I was a dupe, then she was a dupe also.

Busy with this problem, I made my way through the grove along the path back to the Kingdon cottage, and stood for a moment looking over the hedge before opening the gate. There was a light in the room which I took to be the dining-room, but even as I gazed at it, the light moved, a shadow crossed the blind; the light reappeared in the kitchen, faded and disappeared-then, a moment later, my heart leaped suffocatingly as I perceived a glimmer of light at the ventilator in the foundation! What was this woman doing in the cellar? What was the task that was going forward there?

I entered the grounds and started forward along the hedge, when suddenly a hand reached up from the shadow and held me fast. For an instant I struggled fiercely to free myself-but only for an instant.

"Come, Lester, sit down," said a voice carefully repressed, but which I nevertheless recognised as G.o.dfrey's. "I was looking for you," he added, as I dropped to the gra.s.s beside him.

"Oh, is it you, G.o.dfrey?" I asked, much relieved. "I rather thought you might be out this way, when I found you weren't at the hotel. What are the developments?"

"Wait a minute. I wonder where that light has gone?"

"It's in the cellar," I said, and pointed out to him the faint glimmer which marked the ventilator. "It was there last night. I sat here for over an hour and watched it," and I told him briefly of my adventures of the night before.

He listened without comment until I had finished.

"It's a pity you didn't tell me that this morning," he said.

"I didn't see that it was connected with the case in any way. Is it?"

"I don't know," he answered slowly. "Perhaps it is. Did Miss Kingdon mention it when she saw you this morning?"

"Yes-she said she'd been in the cellar, putting away some fruit."

"Absurd! There's no fruit this early in the year. Besides, even if it were true, she wouldn't have to repeat the process again to-night. What else haven't you told me?"

I laughed and recounted my adventures from the moment Mrs. Lawrence gave me her daughter's telegram until that other moment when Lucy Kingdon left me alone in the darkened library.

He listened without interruption, his eyes on the glimmer of light at the ventilator.

"Yes," he said, "I saw Lucy Kingdon leave the house a few minutes ago. Her sister's alone there now. What do you suppose she's doing in the cellar?"

"I can't imagine."

"You could see nothing?"

"Not a thing except her shadow moving back and forth."

"Moving back and forth?"

"Yes; it seemed to me that she was alternately rising and stooping, as though she were going through some sort of exercise."

"She'd hardly go into the cellar at midnight to exercise."

"No, of course not. But that's the only explanation I could think of, unless she's bowing up and down before an idol."

G.o.dfrey laughed grimly.

"That would be a unique solution," he said. "Fancy our headlines: 'Devil Worship at Elizabeth! Fantastic Midnight Orgies in a Cellar!' Wouldn't that stir the public? But I'm afraid it's a little too fantastic. Could you hear anything?"

"Only the faintest of faint sounds. I couldn't make anything of them."

"Well, there wouldn't be any sounds at all if she were merely bobbing up and down before an idol. Was she alone last night?"

"Yes. Her sister spent the night with Mrs. Lawrence. G.o.dfrey," I added, "you haven't told me yet why you sent that telegram. Has Miss Lawrence returned?"

"Not that I know of. Furthermore, I don't think she will return very soon."

"Then you think she really sailed?"

"I think-I don't know what to think, Lester. Give me a moment more. Isn't there a window to the cellar?"

"Yes, but it's closely curtained."

"Well, I'm going to take a look, myself," he said. "Wait here for me, and be as patient as you can."

I saw him go cautiously forward toward the ventilator, and stoop down before it. He remained there motionless for some moments, then disappeared around a corner of the house. I sat there waiting for him, thinking not without some chagrin, that, as usual, he had pumped me dry, and given nothing in return. It was really unfair of G.o.dfrey to expect every one to play into his hands. And yet, I reflected, if he hadn't wanted to be friendly, he would scarcely have taken the trouble to send me that message.

I looked up to see his tall figure coming toward me through the darkness. He dropped beside me, and sat for a moment silent-only, as I caught a glimpse of his face, I was startled to see how white it was.

"I couldn't see a thing," he said, at last, "except a shadow moving up and down, as you said. And I heard the sounds. The woman is working at something in the cellar-something that requires time-something which must be done secretly. I couldn't make anything out of the shadows, and not much out of the sounds-at least, I fear it's only my imagination which gave them the significance they had for me."

"What significance did they have?" I asked.