intensity into his scrutiny of her smooth, untroubled
face. It showed no sudden access of hatred, no unreasoning venom,
except that the general cast of her features spoke generally of
vindictiveness. She was, unmistakably, sure of what she said.

"How do you know that?" he asked, hiding his surprise.

"Mildred knew it--naturally, from working in his office."

"Let me be exact, Mrs. Brace. Your charge is just what?"

He felt the need of keen thought. He reached for his knife and piece of
wood. Entirely unconsciously, he began to whittle, letting little
shavings fall on the bare floor. She made no sign of seeing his new
occupation.

"It's plain enough, Mr.--I don't recall your name."

"Hastings--Jefferson Hastings."

"It's plain and direct, Mr. Hastings. He threw her over, threw Mildred
over. She refused to be dealt with in that way. He wouldn't listen to
her side, her arguments, her protests, her pleas. She pursued him; and
last night he killed her. I understand--Mr. Crown told me--he was found
bending over the body--it seemed to me, caught in the very commission of
the crime."

A fleeting contortion, like mirthless ridicule, touched her lips as she
saw him, with head lowered, cut more savagely into the piece of wood.
She noticed, and enjoyed, his dismay.

"That isn't quite accurate," he said, without lifting his head. "He and
another man, Judge Wilton, stumbled--came upon your daughter's body at
the same moment."

"Was that it?" she retorted, unbelieving.

When he looked up, she was regarding him thoughtfully, the black brows
elevated, interrogative. The old man felt the stirrings of physical
nausea within him. But he waited for her to elaborate her story.

"Do you care to ask anything more?" she inquired, impersonal as ashes.

"If I may."

"Why, certainly."

He paused in his whittling, brought forth a huge handkerchief, passed it
across his forehead, was aware for a moment that he was working hard
against the woman's unnatural calmness, and feeling the heat intensely.
She was untouched by it. He whittled again, asking her:

"You a native of Washington?"

"No."

"How long have you been here?"

"About nine months. We came from Chicago."

"Any friends here--have you any friends here?"

"Neither here nor elsewhere." She made that bleak declaration simply,
as if he had suggested her possession of green diamonds. Her tone made
friendship a myth.

He felt again utterly free of the restraints and