"No. I know the boy you mean. He is a lad called Jerry Moon. Julius found him selling matches in town, ragged and poor. He helped him, and the other day he procured him a situation with Miss Berengaria."

"He is there now. But he--we have reason to believe--is the boy who lured Bernard to Crimea Square."

"I know nothing about that," said Lucy, frankly. "Why not ask the boy himself? It would be easy."

"We will ask the boy shortly," replied Conniston, evasively, not wishing at this juncture to tell her that the great object of everyone was to prevent Jerry thinking he was suspected. "Should you meet the boy say nothing to him."

"I will not, and I am not likely to meet the boy. He is usually in Miss Plantagenet's poultry yard, and I rarely go round there." Lucy paused.

"It is strange that the boy should act like that. I wonder if Sir Simon sent him to fetch Bernard, and arranged the Red Window as a sign which house it was?"

"The Red Window. Ah yes! Mrs. Webber saw the light, and----"

"And Julius afterwards didn't. I know that. It was my fault. When we drove up in the carriage on that terrible night I saw the Red Light, and wondered if Sir Simon had arranged it as a sign to Bernard. When I saw Bernard in the hall I was not astonished, for I thought he had come in answer to the light. I went upstairs, and after attending to Sir Simon, I went to the window. The lamp was before it, and stretched across the pane was a red bandanna handkerchief of Sir Simon's. I took that away, so you see how it was Julius did not see the light."

"Why did you remove the handkerchief?" asked the puzzled Conniston.

"Well, I wanted to save Bernard if possible, and I thought if the Red Light which had drawn him were removed, he could make some excuse.

Julius knew about the Red Light, and, as he hated Bernard, I fancied he would use it against him. But really," added Miss Randolph, wrinkling her pretty brows, "I hardly knew what I was doing, save that in some vague way I fancied the removal of the handkerchief might help Bernard.

Is that clear?"

"Perfectly clear," said Conniston, "and I am glad I know this. May I tell Bernard and Durham?"

"Certainly. I want to do all I can to help Bernard."

"Ah, you are a good woman," said Conniston, eagerly. "I wonder if you could make a chap good?"

"It depends upon the chap," said Lucy, shyly.

"I know a chap who----"

"Please stop, Lord Conniston," cried Lucy, starting up in confusion. "I have heaps and heaps to do. You prevent my working."

Her hurried flight prevented Conniston from putting the question on that occasion. But he was not daunted. He resolved to propose as soon as possible. But Lucy thought he was making love too ardently, and by those arts known to women alone, she managed to keep him at arm's length. She was anxious that Bernard should be cleared, that he should take up his rightful position, and should receive back the Hall from her, before Lord Conniston proposed. Of course, Lucy was ready to accept him, but, sure of her fish, she played with him until such time as she felt disposed to accept his hand and heart and t.i.tle and what remained of the West fortune. Conniston, more determined than ever to win this adorable woman, came over regularly. But Lucy skilfully kept him off the dangerous ground, whereby he fell deeper in love than ever. Then one day, she appeared with a blue-covered book, the contents of which so startled them that love-making was postponed to a more convenient season.

"Fancy," said Lucy, running to meet Conniston one afternoon as soon as he appeared at the drawing-room door, "I have found the diary of Mrs.

Gilroy."

"That's a good thing," said Conniston, eagerly. "She knows more of the truth than anyone else. We must read her diary."

"Will that be honorable?" said Lucy, retaining her hold of the book.

"Perfectly. One does not stand on ceremony when a man's neck is at stake. Mrs. Gilroy's diary may save Bernard's life. She knew too much about the murder, and fled because she thought Durham would come and question her."

"Oh! Was that why she ran away?"

"Yes! A woman like Mrs. Gilroy does not take such a course for nothing.

She's a clever woman."

"And a very disagreeable woman," said Lucy, emphatically. "But what did she know?"

Conniston wriggled uneasily. He was not quite certain whether he ought to tell Lucy all that had been discovered, and, had he not been in love with her, he would probably have held his tongue. But, after some reflection, he decided to speak out. "You are, of course, on Bernard's side," he said.

"Yes. And against Julius, who hates Bernard. I will do anything I can to help Bernard. I am sure you can see that," she added in a most reproachful manner.

"I know--I know. You are the truest and best woman in the world," said Conniston, eagerly, "but what I have to tell you is not my own secret.

It concerns Bernard."

"Then don't tell me," said Lucy, coloring angrily.

"Yes, I will. You have the diary and I want to read it. To know why I do, it is necessary that you should learn all that we have discovered."

"What have you discovered? Who killed Sir Simon?"

"No. We are trying to hunt down the a.s.sa.s.sin. And Mrs. Gilroy's diary may tell us."

"I don't see that."

"You will, when you learn what I have to say." And Conniston related everything concerning the false marriage and the half-brother of young Gore. "And now, you see," he finished triumphantly, "Mrs. Gilroy is fighting for her son. It is probable that she has set down the events of that night in her diary."

"She would not be such a fool, if her son is guilty."

"Oh, people do all manner of queer things. Criminals who are very secretive in speech sometimes give themselves away in writing. You were at the theatre on that night?"

"Yes, with Julius; so neither of us had anything to do with the matter, if that is what you mean."

"I mean nothing of the sort," said Conniston, quickly. "How can you think I should suspect you?"

"You might suspect Julius," said Lucy, suspiciously, "and although we have quarrelled I don't want to harm him."

"Would you rather have Bernard hanged?"

"Oh!" Lucy burst into tears and impulsively threw the book into Conniston's lap. "Read it at once; I would rather save Bernard than Julius."

Conniston availed himself of this permission at once. He took away the diary with Lucy's permission, and carried it in triumph to the castle.

Here he and Bernard sat down to master its contents. These astonished them considerably. Conniston made out a short and concise account of the events of that fatal night, for the benefit of Durham. They were as follows:

Mrs. Gilroy, it appears, thought that her son, Michael, was really and truly in America. She had no suspicion that the lover of Jane Riordan was her son, but truly believed from the description that he was young Gore whom she hated--as she plainly stated in several pages. When the presumed Bernard went away before six, he did not call again at ten o'clock. The man that called, Mrs. Gilroy a.s.serted, was Bernard, and not her son. He saw Sir Simon and after a stormy interview he departed.

"Why then doesn't she accuse me of the crime?" said Gore.

"Wait a bit," said Conniston, who was reading his precis. "This diary is meant for her eye alone. Still, she may have thought it might fall into the hands of another person, and therefore made her son safe. Michael called before ten--for then, Bernard, you were with Durham and myself.

Michael saw Sir Simon, and then Mrs. Gilroy, pretending the man was you, says he departed, leaving your grandfather alive. See! here's the bit,"

and he read, "Sir Simon was alive after Mr. Gore left the house."

"Go on," said Bernard. "If I am innocent, why did she accuse me?"

"Because I believe her son is guilty. He left Sir Simon dead. Mrs.

Gilroy found the body, knew what had occurred, and then ran out on hearing Jerry's whistle knowing she would meet you. It's all plain."