hat I had innocence written all over me
in large letters--so large that you couldn't believe very strong
evidence against me after seeing me twice." Mrs. Manderson laughed, and
her laugh carried him away with it. He knew well by this time that
sudden rush of cascading notes of mirth, the perfect expression of
enjoyment; he had many times tried to amuse her merely for his delight
in the sound of it. "And now it's all over, and you know--and we'll
never speak of it any more."

"I hope not," Trent said in sincere relief. "If you're resolved to be so
kind as this about it, I am not high-principled enough to insist on your
blasting me with your lightnings. And now, Mrs. Manderson, I had better
go. Changing the subject after this would be like playing
puss-in-the-corner after an earthquake." He rose to his feet.

"You are right," she said. "But no! Wait. There is another thing--part
of the same subject; and we ought to pick up all the pieces now while we
are about it. Please sit down." She took the envelop containing Trent's
manuscript despatch from the table where he had laid it. "I want to
speak about this."

His brows bent, and he looked at her questioningly. "So do I, if you
do," he said slowly. "I want very much to know one thing."

"Tell me."

"Since my reason for suppressing that information was all a fantasy, why
did you never make any use of it? When I began to realize that I had
been wrong about you, I explained your silence to myself by saying that
you could not bring yourself to do a thing that would put a rope round a
man's neck, whatever he might have done. I can quite understand that
feeling. Was that what it was? Another possibility I thought of was that
you knew of something that was by way of justifying or excusing
Marlowe's act. Or I thought you might have a simple horror, quite apart
from humanitarian scruples, of appearing publicly in connection with a
murder trial. Many important witnesses in such cases have to be
practically forced into giving their evidence. They feel there is
defilement even in the shadow of the scaffold."

Mrs. Manderson tapped her lips with the envelop without quite concealing
a smile. "You didn't think of another possibility, I suppose, Mr.
Trent," she said.

"No." He looked puzzled.

"I mean the possibility of your having been wrong about Mr. Marlowe as
well as about me. No, no; you needn't tell me that the chain of evidence
is complete. I know it is. But evidence of wha