"But what connexion could Marigold or Logan have had with the affair?"

I asked. "What is your theory? Why did they travel there in secret?

If Marigold was to be their victim, then I could understand it; but she was not."

"It seems evident she was taken out to Milan by Logan in order to meet Marie in secret," he said.

"But if the murder was not pre-arranged, why should they have taken possession of a dwelling that was not their own? That fact, in itself, shows that their object was a sinister one," I argued.

"Stanchester believes that his wife has been at Bray with her sister Sibyl. He has no idea she's been abroad."

"And Logan? What of him?"

"I know nothing," he declared. "He is probably still abroad. My own idea is that he crossed the Channel in order to meet Marigold and escort her to Italy."

"Then the affair is as great a mystery as it ever was?" I remarked with dissatisfaction. I had risked my life and narrowly escaped being placed on trial for murder--all to no purpose.

"Greater," he said. "For my own part I cannot see what they've gained by sealing Marie's lips. I know," he added, "that Belotto made an attempt upon her during her stay at the farm in this vicinity, but they were prevented."

"Who prevented them?" I inquired eagerly, as this was the first time he had admitted knowledge of their concealment at the farm to which Pink had been called on that fateful night.

"Well, as a matter of fact," he answered, looking me straight in the face, "I did."

"You!" I cried.

"Yes," he responded. "Belotto, who was madly jealous of her, took her for a walk in the wood on purpose, I believe, to get rid of her.

Fortunately, however, I had suspicion of his intention, and followed him. Just as she was struck, I emerged and denounced him, but too late.

He then attacked me, but I defended myself. Then fearing the girl would die, the others did all they could to succour her, as they dreaded that by her death they would all be arrested for murder."

"Then the reason they left Hayes's Farm so suddenly was because they were in fear of you?"

"Exactly. Marie Lejeune was equally afraid of me, and escaped with them--abroad, it seems."

I related how the doctor, Pink, had been called to the girl, and of the investigations he and I made afterwards, whereupon he said, smiling--

"Yes, I know. I remained in the vicinity, and watched you both ride up to the house that afternoon."

"And now you have told me so much, Mr Keene," I said. "Have you no theory regarding the murder of Hugh Wingfield?"

"Ah! That's quite another matter," he said as a strange expression crossed his bearded features. "That's a question which it is best for us not to discuss."

"Why?"

"Because I can say nothing."

"But you have a theory?"

"It may not be the right one," he answered in a hard, strained voice.

"At least you know who the man was?" I said. "You have already mentioned his name."

"Can you tell me why he, a perfect stranger, wore upon his finger the portrait of Lady Lolita?" I asked.

"For the same reason, I suppose, that a woman wears in a locket a portrait of a man."

"You imply that he was Lolita's lover?"

"I imply nothing," he said vaguely. "I make no statement at all. I have indeed told you that the matter is one which it is wiser not to discuss."

"But can't you see how, in my position, that terrible affair is of greatest moment to my happiness and peace of mind?" I pointed out.

"Who was he? What brought him to the park on that night?"

"I don't know."

"Lolita went forth to meet him, that I know," I said.

"Yes," he remarked. "That was proved by the marks of her heels at the spot where the body was found. She must therefore have met him."

"If so, then she must know the truth, Mr Keene," I said in a hard voice, watching his dark face. "What I want to discover is the reason he came here in secret that night."

He paused a moment his eyes fixed upon me, as though he were debating within himself whether he should betray my love's secret. Then at length he said--

"You mentioned, I think, to Lady Lolita that you had secured from the dead man's pocket a sc.r.a.p of paper bearing a message in cipher--did you not?"

"Yes," I exclaimed eagerly. "It is the checker-board cipher, I know, but I am unable to read it because I am ignorant of the keyword."

"If you really desire to decipher it, and think it will help you to a knowledge of the real facts, why not try the single and very unusual word--her own name!"

"Lolita!" I gasped quickly in eagerness. "Then the keyword is Lolita!"

To which he made no response, but nodded gravely in the affirmative.

Then, without further ado, I rushed back to my room took out the folded sc.r.a.p of paper that had brought Hugh Wingfield to his doom, and spread it before me together with the checker-board.

In a quarter of an hour I had reduced the numerals to letters, subtracted my love's name, and deciphered it--yes, the fatal message stood revealed.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

WESTON EXPRESSES CERTAIN FEARS.

On reference to the checker-board which my friend had sent me, I found that the word "Lolita" read 31. 34. 31. 24. 44. 11.

These numbers I began to subtract from the first six numbers of the secret message, but the letters represented by the remaining numbers were a mere unintelligible jumble. At last, however, after considerable thought, I tried taking the numbers down the columns:--namely 63. 49.

46. 68. Subtracted by the keyword there remained 32. 15. 15. 44., which I found on reference to my checker-board was the word "meet."

At last the secret was mine! Very soon I had deciphered the numerals into this message:--

"_Meet me in the avenue on Monday. Fear nothing. Marie betrayed to police_.--Lol."

Lolita herself had therefore enticed the unfortunate young man to his doom.