th an emotion that was a mingling of incredulity and
repugnant wonder.

"It's no use, Mrs. Brace," he told her. "Russell didn't see the name of
the man to whom the letter was addressed. I saw him last Sunday
afternoon. He told me he took the name for granted, because Mildred had
taunted him, saying it went to Webster. As a matter of fact, he wanted
to see if Webster was at Sloanehurst and fastened his eyes for a
fleeting glimpse on that word--and on that alone. Besides, there are
facts to prove that the letter did not go to Webster.--Do you see how
your fancied security falls away?"

"Let me think," she said, her tone flat and impersonal.

She was silent, her restless eyes gazing at the wall over his head. He
watched her, and glanced only at intervals at the wood he was aimlessly
shaving.

"Of course," she said, after a while, looking at him with a speculative,
deliberating air, "you've deduced and pieced this together. You've a
woman's intuition--comprehension of motives, feelings."

She was silent again.

"Pieced what together?" he asked.

"It's plain enough, isn't it? You began with your suspicion that my need
of money was heavier in my mind than grief at Mildred's death. On that,
you built up--well, all you've just said."

"It was more than a suspicion," he corrected. "It was knowledge--that
everything you did, after her death, was intended to help along your
scheme to--we'll say, to get money."

"Still," she persisted shrewdly, "you felt the necessity of proving I'd
blackmail--if that's the word you want to use."

"How?" he put in quickly. "Prove it, how?"

"That's why you sent that girl here with the five hundred. I see it now;
although, at the time, I didn't." She laughed, a short, bitter note.
"Perhaps, the money, or my need of it, kept me from thinking straight."

"Well?"

"Of course," she made the admission calmly, "as soon as I took the hush
money, your theory seemed sound--the whole of it: my motives and
identity of the murderer."

She was thinking with a concentration so intense that the signs of it
resembled physical exertion. Moisture beaded the upper part of her
forehead. He could see the muscles of her face respond to the locking of
her jaws.

"But there's nothing against me," she began again, and, moved by his
expression, qualified: "nothing that I can be held for, in the courts."

"You've decided that, have you?"

"You'll admit it," she said. "There's nothing--there can be nothin