to-day. She fainted when--you know when."

"I can guess. God! What complications arise! You don't say that any woman
can care for _him_?"

Hexford gave a shrug. He had seen a good deal of life.

"He uses that door, then?" Sweetwater pursued, after a minute.

"Probably."

"Did he use it that night?"

"He didn't visit _her_"

"Where did he go?"

"We can't find out. He was first seen on Garden Street, coming home after
a night of debauch. He had drunk hard. Asked where he got the liquor, he
maundered out something about a saloon; but none of the places which he
usually frequents had seen him that night. I have tried them all and some
that weren't in his books. It was no good."

"That door is supposed to be locked at night. Zadok says that's his duty.
Was it locked that night?"

"Can't say. Perhaps the coroner can. You see the inquiry ran in such a
different direction, at first, that a small matter like that may have
been overlooked."

Sweetwater subdued the natural retort, and, reverting to the subject of
the saloons, got some specific information in regard to them. Then he
passed thoughtfully down-stairs, only to come upon Helen who was just
extinguishing the front-hall light.

"Good night!" he said, in passing.

"Good night, Mr. Sweetwater."

There was something in her tone which made him stop and look back. She
had stepped into the library and was blowing out the lamp there. He
paused a moment and sighed softly. Then he started towards the door, only
to stop again and cast another look back. She was standing in one of the
doorways, anxiously watching him and twisting her fingers in and out in
an irresolute way truly significant in one of her disposition.

He felt his heart leap.

Returning softly, he took up his stand before her, looking her straight
in the eye.

"Good night," he repeated, with an odd emphasis.

"Good night," she answered, with equal force and meaning.

But the next moment she was speaking rapidly, earnestly.

"I can't sleep," said she. "I never can when I'm not certain of my duty.
Mr. Ranelagh is an injured man. Ask what was said and done at their last
dinner here. I can't tell you. I didn't listen and I didn't see what
happened, but it was something out of the ordinary. Three broken
wineglasses lay on the tablecloth when I went in to clear away. I heard
the clatter when they fell and smashed, but I said nothing. I have said
nothing since; but I know there was a quarrel, and