es forget myself. Do you think"--here
she became quite nervous for one of her marked self-control--"that I
have laid myself open to a summons from the coroner?"

Mr. Gryce grew thoughtful, eyed the good lady, or rather her folded
hands, with an air of some compassion, and finally replied:

"The facts regarding this affair come in so slowly that I doubt if the
inquest is held for several days. Meanwhile we may light on those two
young people ourselves. If so, the coroner may _overlook_ your share in
bringing them to our notice."

There was a sly emphasis on the word, and a subtle humor in his look
that showed the old detective at his worst. But Miss Butterworth did not
resent it; she was too full of a fresh confession she had to make.

"Ah," said she, "if they had been the only persons I encountered there.
But they were not. Another person entered the house before I left it,
and I may be obliged to speak of him."

"Of him? Really, madam, you are a mine of intelligence."

"Yes, sir," was the meek reply; meek, when you consider from whose lips
it came. "I ought to have spoken of him before, but I never like to mix
matters, and this old gentleman----"

"Old gentleman!"

"Yes, sir, very old and very much of a gentleman, did not appear to have
any connection with the crime beyond knowing the murdered man."

"Ah, but that's a big connection, ma'am. To find some one who knew Mr.
Adams--really, madam, patience has its limits, and I must press you to
speak."

"Oh, I will speak! The time has come for it. Besides, I'm quite ready to
discuss this new theme; it is very interesting."

"Suppose we begin, then, by a detailed account of your adventures in
this house of death," dryly suggested the detective. "Your full
adventures, madam, with nothing left out."

"I appreciate the sarcasm, but nothing has been left out except what I
am about to relate to you. It happened just as I was leaving the house."

"What did? I hate to ask you to be more explicit. But, in the interests
of justice----"

"You are quite right. As I was going out, then, I encountered an elderly
gentleman coming in. His hand had just touched the bell handle. You will
acknowledge that it was a perplexing moment for me. His face, which was
well preserved for his years, wore an air of expectation that was almost
gay. He glanced in astonishment at mine, which, whatever its usual
serenity, certainly must have borne marks of deep emotion. Neither of us
spoke.