nd, was staring at the carpet. The
excitement of the hunt for the truth was steadily rising in him. He had
not in his own mind accepted Mrs. Manderson's account of Marlowe's
character as unquestionable. But she had spoken forcibly; he could by no
means set it aside, and his theory was much shaken.

"There is only one thing for it," he said, looking up. "I must see
Marlowe. It worries me too much to have the thing left like this. I will
get at the truth. Can you tell me," he broke off, "how he behaved after
the day I left White Gables?"

"I never saw him after that," said Mrs. Manderson simply. "For some days
after you went away I was ill, and didn't go out of my room. When I was
about again he had left and was in London, settling things with the
lawyers. He did not come down to the funeral. Immediately after that I
went abroad. After some weeks a letter from him reached me, saying he
had concluded his business and given the solicitors all the assistance
in his power. He thanked me very nicely for what he called all my
kindness, and said good-by. There was nothing in it about his plans for
the future, and I thought it particularly strange that he said not a
word about my husband's death. I didn't answer. Knowing what I knew, I
couldn't. In those days I shuddered whenever I thought of that
masquerade in the night. Rather than face him, I was ready to go on in
ignorance of what had really happened. I never wanted to see or hear of
him again."

"Then you don't know what has become of him?"

"No: but I dare say Uncle Burton--Mr. Cupples, you know--could tell you.
Some time ago he told me that he had met Mr. Marlowe in London, and had
some talk with him. I changed the conversation." She paused and smiled
with a trace of mischief. "I rather wonder what you supposed had
happened to Mr. Marlowe, after you withdrew from the scene of the drama
that you had put together so much to your satisfaction."

Trent flushed. "Do you really want to know?" he said.

"I ask you," she retorted quietly.

"You ask me to humiliate myself again, Mrs. Manderson. Very well. I will
tell you what I thought I should most likely find when I returned to
London this year: that you had married Marlowe and gone to live abroad."

She heard him with unmoved composure. "We certainly couldn't have lived
very comfortably in England on his money and mine," she observed
thoughtfully. "He had practically nothing then."

He stared at her--"gaped," she told