in the blue
eyes; and then I told Maillot something of what was in my own mind.

"I know it, Swift," he at once returned. "But I believe my only hope
lies in placing myself unreservedly in your hands. I 'm going to trust
myself to your--"

A queer little sound from Miss Fluette--between a gasp and a
sob--checked him. She got abruptly to her feet, and fixed such a look
of aversion upon me, that I hope I may never again be the object of its
like. It is decidedly unpleasant not to be in the good graces of so
handsome a girl. The color ebbed quickly from her cheeks, her eyes
widened and her lips trembled.

"Royal," she said brokenly, but with an effort at self-control, "does
this--this man mean that you are suspected of--of your uncle's
_murder_?" And all her feelings were compressed into the emphasis of
that last word.

"Belle!" came in gentle chiding from Miss Cooper, "Don't! Can't you
see that Royal is trusting to Mr. Swift?" Then she too rose; she
passed round to her cousin's side of the table, drew a chair close up
to her and sat down. She took Miss Fluette's hand into her own, and
sought to draw her back into her seat, just as Maillot spoke up with a
confidence and assurance for which I could not help but admire him.

"Suspect me!" he cried amazedly, dashing the remnant of his cigarette
into the fire. "Oh, figs! Of course he doesn't, Belle; but--look
here: there are plenty who will. I want to make it plain that, in a
way wholly unintentional on my part, I have got myself mixed up in a
pretty bad mess, and then I want to make sure of Mr. Swift's
cooeperation in my efforts to extricate myself.

"My dear Belle,"--a gentle note crept into his voice,--"please consider
the circumstances under which I came here last night; think of the
tragedy which followed so swiftly; consider the story I have to tell,
and then ask yourself, Who is going to believe it? God help us both,
dear girl, but this thing has all got to be brought out and aired in
public!"

The fine brown eyes searched my face.

"Do you believe that Royal Maillot is guilty of this monstrous crime?"
she asked me point-blank.

Before I had time to frame a reply, she once more sprang impetuously
from her chair, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling with anger.

"Answer me, sir, do you believe that?"

I replied, then, calmly, if non-committally:

"As Mr. Maillot has said, I am of a disposition to help him out of a
tight place, and I trust