t the high fence of iron. It was behind the
fence that Loftus had been found. The place itself was directly in
front of Annandale's house.

On entering that house Orr was shown into the drawing-room. Shortly,
from a room beyond, Annandale appeared.

"You have heard, have you not?" he asked. "But come in here."

Orr followed him to the other room. In it was a sideboard on which
decanters stood.

"Will you have something?"

Orr thanked him. Annandale helped himself to a liquor. As he did so
the decanter clicked against the glass and, as he raised the glass,
Orr saw that his hand shook.

"It is very strange," said Annandale, repeating almost the words which
Orr had used to Sylvia. "I had no cause to love the man, but----"

"I know," Orr interrupted. "My cousin told me. But if I were you I
would not talk of it. She seemed worried lest you might."

Annandale put down the glass. He was quite flushed. "But," he
exclaimed, "she does not suspect me!"

"Of course not. On the contrary. But then the fact suggests a motive
which, coupled with any threat you may have made, might, in the
absence of other clues, made a prima facie case, which to say the
least, don't you see, would be nasty."

"Damnably so!" Annandale muttered dumbly. Then, raising the glass
again, he threw out: "But what nonsense! A little after you had all
gone from here I went to your cousin's----"

"Yes. I know you did. I met you on the stoop."

"Did you?" said Annandale with marked surprise.

"Why, yes. Don't you remember?"

Annandale passed a hand across his face and sat down.

"Don't you remember?" Orr reiterated.

Annandale shook his head.

"But you remember where you went afterward, don't you? Did you come
directly here?"

Annandale made no answer.

"Can't you tell me?" Orr asked. "Or is it that you don't wish to?"

On a mantel opposite the sideboard a clock was ticking. For awhile in
the room only that ticking could be heard.

"Can't you?" Orr asked again.

Annandale stood up. It was as though the question had prodded him. He
moved to the sideboard. But Orr got in his way.

"Don't drink any more. Try to think."

"I can't," said Annandale. He moved back and sat down. In his face the
flush had deepened. It looked mottled. He himself looked ill.

Orr, a hand extended on the sideboard, beat on it a brief tattoo.

"This is rather tedious," he said at last. "It is only a little less
than a year ago that you had a similar lapse. Oddl