now. It was a matter of no importance, in itself. I've
exaggerated it, by my silence, into disproportionate significance." His
tone changed to curiosity. "Who told you about--the whispering?"

The detective was implacable, emphasizing his dominance.

"First, what was it?" When Wilton still hesitated, he repeated: "What
did Webster say when he put his hand over your mouth--to prevent your
outcry?"

The judge threw up his head, as if in sudden resolve to be frank. He
spoke more readily, with a clumsy semblance of amiability.

"He said, 'Don't do that! You'll frighten Lucille!' I tried to nod my
head, agreeing. But he misunderstood the movement, I think. He thought
I meant to shout anyway; he tightened his grip. 'Keep quiet! Will you
keep quiet?' he repeated two or three times. When I made my meaning
clear, he took his hand away. He explained later what had occurred to
him the moment Arthur's light flashed on. He said it came to him before
he clearly realized who I was. It----

"I swear, Hastings, I hate to tell you this. It suggests unjust
suspicions. Of what value are the wild ideas of a nervous man, all to
pieces anyway, when he stumbles on a dead woman in the middle of the
night?"

"They were valuable enough," Hastings flicked him, "for you to cover
them up--for some reason. What were they?"

Wilton was puzzled by the detective's tone, its abstruse insinuation.
But he answered the question.

"He said his first idea, the one that made him think of Lucille, was
that Arthur might have had something to do with the murder."

"Why? Why did he think Sloane had killed Mildred Brace?"

"Because she had been the cause of Lucille's breaking her engagement
with Berne--and Arthur knew that. Arthur had been in a rage----"

"All right!" Hastings checked him suddenly, and, getting to his feet,
fell to pacing the room, his eyes, always on Wilton. "I'm acquainted
with that part of it."

He paid no attention to Wilton's evident surprise at that statement. He
had a surprise of his own to deal with: the unexpected similarity of the
judge's story with Lucille Sloane's theorizing as to what Webster had
whispered across the body in the moment of its discovery. The two
statements were identical--a coincidence that defied credulity.

He caught himself doubting Lucille. Had she been theorizing, after all?
Or had she relayed to him words that Wilton had put into her mouth?
Then, remembering her grief, her desperate appeals to him