rlebar is implicated in the affair, if
not the actual assassin, why don't you interrogate her?" asked Walter
boldly.

"Well--well, to tell the truth, our inquiries are not yet complete. When
they are, we may be in a better position--we probably shall be--to put to
her certain pointed questions. But," he added quickly, "perhaps I ought
not to say this, for I know she is a friend of yours."

"What you tell me is in confidence, as always, Trendall," he replied
quickly. "I knew long ago that Enid was deeply attached to Bellairs. But
much that you have just told me is entirely fresh to me. I must find
Barker and question him."

"I don't think I'd do that. Wait until we have completed our inquiries,"
urged the other. "If Bellairs was killed in so secret and scientific a
manner that no trace was left, he was killed with a cunning and
craftiness which betrays a jealous woman rather than a man. Besides,
there are other facts we have gathered which go further to prove that
Enid Orlebar is the actual culprit."

"What are they? Tell me, Trendall."

"No, my dear chap; you are the lady's friend--it is really unfair to ask
me," he protested. "Where the usual mysteries are concerned, I'm always
open and above-board with you. But in private investigations like this
you must allow me to retain certain knowledge to myself."

"But I beg of you to tell me everything," demanded the other. "I have
taken an intense interest in the matter, as you have, even though my
motive has been of an entirely different character."

"You have no suspicion that Bellairs was in possession of any great
secret--a secret which it was to Miss Orlebar's advantage should be
kept?"

"No," was the novelist's prompt response. "But I can't see the drift of
your question," he added.

"Well," replied the keen, alert man, who, again seated in his
writing-chair, bent slightly towards his visitor, "well, as you've asked
me to reveal all I know, Fetherston, I will do so, even though I feel
some reluctance, in face of the fact that Miss Orlebar is your friend."

"That makes no difference," declared the other firmly. "I am anxious to
clear up the mystery of Bellairs' death."

"Then I think that you need seek no farther for the correct solution,"
replied Trendall quietly, looking into the other's pale countenance.
"Your lady friend killed him--_in order to preserve her own secret_."

"But what was her secret?"

"We have that yet to establish. It must have been a