ow who it was?" she gasped. "Have you found out who it was?"

"We suspect who it was," answered Goldberger gravely.

"Tell me," she began.

"Wait a minute, Miss Vaughan," I broke in. "Tell me, first--did you
hear anyone following you across the garden?"

"Yes," she answered thoughtfully; "once or twice I fancied that
someone was following us. It seemed to me I heard a step, but when I
looked back I saw no one."

"Did that fact make you uneasy?"

"No," she said, with a little smile. "I thought it was Mr. Swain."

I saw Goldberger's sudden movement. I myself could not repress a
little shudder.

"You thought that would be the natural thing for Mr. Swain to do, did
you not?" the coroner inquired.

"Yes--I thought he might wish to see me safe." Then she stopped,
leaning forward in her chair and staring first at Goldberger and then
at me. "What is it?" she whispered, her hands against her heart. "Oh,
what is it? You don't mean--you can't mean--oh, tell me! It isn't Fred
you suspect! It can't be Fred!"

It was Dr. Hinman who laid a gentle and quieting hand upon her
shoulder, and it was his grave voice which answered her.

"Yes," he said, "there are some things which seem to implicate Mr.
Swain; but both Mr. Lester and I are certain he isn't guilty. We're
going to prove it!"

She looked up at him with a grateful smile.

"Thank you!" she gasped. "I--wait a moment--I was silly to give way
so. Of course you will prove it! It's absurd!" And then she stopped
and looked at Goldberger. "Do _you_ believe it?" she demanded.

Goldberger flushed a little under her gaze.

"I don't know what to believe, Miss Vaughan," he said. "I'm searching
for the truth."

"So are we all," I said. "I am counsel for Mr. Swain, Miss Vaughan,
and I have come to you, hoping that your story would help to clear him."

"Oh, I wish it might!" she cried.

"You know Mr. Swain cut his wrist as he came over the wall that night?"

"Yes, he told me. He didn't know it was bleeding, at first; then he
felt the blood on his hand, and I wrapped his wrist in my
handkerchief."

"Was it this handkerchief?" asked Goldberger, and took from his pocket
the blood-stained square and handed it to her.

She took it with a little shiver, looked at it, and passed it back to him.

"Yes," she said; "that is it."

Then she sat upright, her clenched hands against her breast, staring
at us with starting eyes.

"I remember now!" she gasped. "I remember now! I sa