le Hardy's will--say,
two or three weeks ago?"

"No. They knew nothing of it then."

Garrison's heart sank. "You are sure?"

"Absolutely positive. Uncle John was very secretive."

The suggestion that the Robinsons, having known the condition in the
will, had destroyed John Hardy in the belief that Dorothy, being
unmarried, would thereby lose the inheritance, was vanishing. Garrison
still had hope.

"You once alluded to certain obligations that--well, compelled you to
hire a husband," he said. "You had no urgent need of funds in a large
amount?"

She darted him a startled look. "I shall have a pressing need--soon.
I suppose you have a right to know."

Garrison was almost in despair. There was nothing to do but go on.

"Did Mr. Hardy know anything of this need?"

"No."

"You feared he might not be in sympathy with your requirements?"

"No, he---- Have these questions anything to do with our--case?" She
seemed to be frightened.

"They have," he said. "You have your diamonds and pearls. You might
raise quite a sum on such valuable gems."

The look of fear upon her face increased.

"I couldn't!" she said, as if she feared the walls might hear and
betray. "Please don't mention----"

"You didn't tell me what they are, or why you wish to keep them," he
said. "What does it mean?"

"Please don't ask!" She was greatly agitated. "Please trust me--a
little while longer! You probably have to return to Branchville and
your work."

He determined then and there upon the one supreme test of the situation.

"That reminds me," he said, averting his gaze; "the work on which I am
engaged in Branchville is the case of a man named Hardy. I'm glad he
was not your uncle."

Her face took on the hue of death. Her lips moved, but for a moment
made no sound. Then, with an effort, she replied:

"You're glad--but--why?"

"Because," he replied, with a forced smile on his lips, "the man up at
Branchville was murdered."

She made no sound.

She simply closed her eyes and swayed toward him, weakly collapsing as
she fell. He caught her quickly against his breast, a heavy, precious
burden that he knew he must love, though the angels of heaven accuse
her.

"Dorothy--Dorothy--forgive me," he said, but her senses were deaf to
his voice.

CHAPTER XII

A DISTURBING LOSS

Garrison, holding the limp, helpless form in his arms, gazed quickly
about the room and saw the couch. He crossed the floor and