he crime."

Beecot shook his head and strove to dissuade her from entertaining this
idea. But Sylvia, usually so amenable to reason, refused to discard her
theory, and indeed Paul himself thought that the incident of the sugar
was queer. He determined to tell Hurd about the matter, and then the
hawker might be found and made to explain why he had left the goor on
the counter. "But the sect of the Thugs is extinct," argued Paul,
quickly; "it can't be, Sylvia."

"But it is," she insisted, "I'm sure." And from this firm opinion he
could not move her. Finally, when he departed, he took the books with
him, and promised to read the novel again. Perhaps something might come
of Sylvia's fancy.

The lovers spent the rest of the time in talking over their future, and
Beecot looked hopefully towards making sufficient money to offer Sylvia
a home. He also described to her how he had met Mrs. Krill and related
what she was prepared to do. "Do you think we should accept the five
hundred a year, Paul," said Sylvia, doubtfully; "it would put everything
right, and so long as I am with you I don't care where we live."

"If you leave the decision to me, darling," said Paul, "I think it will
be best to refuse this offer. Something is wrong, or Mrs. Krill would
not be so anxious to get you out of the country."

"Oh, Paul, do you think she knows anything about the murder?"

"No, dear. I don't think that. Mrs. Krill is far too clever a woman to
put her neck in danger. But there may be a chance of her daughter losing
the money. Sylvia," he asked, "you saw Maud Krill. How old would you
take her to be?"

"Oh, quite old, Paul," said Sylvia, decisively; "she dresses well and
paints her face; but she's forty."

"Oh, Sylvia, not so much as that."

"Well, then, thirty and over," insisted Sylvia. "Debby thinks the same
as I do."

"Don't you think Debby's zeal may lead her to exaggerate?"

"It doesn't lead me to exaggerate," said Sylvia, slightly offended; "and
I have eyes in my head as well as Debby. That girl, or that woman, I
should say, is over thirty, Paul."

"In that case," said Beecot, his color rising, "I fancy I see the reason
of Mrs. Krill's desire to get you out of the country. Maud," he added
deliberately, "may not be your father's daughter after all."

"What makes you think that?"

"Well. According to the marriage certificate, and to Mrs. Krill's
admission, she was married to your father thirty years ago. If Maud is
over