ithout your bringing out that wretched
handkerchief, which she may or may not have dropped in that room,
but whose presence there, soiled though it was with pistol grease, is
certainly no proof that she herself was connected with this murder?"

"Mr. Raymond," he returned, "I have been detailed as police officer and
detective to look after this case, and I propose to do it."

"Of course," I hastened to reply. "I am the last man to wish you to
shirk your duly; but you cannot have the temerity to declare that this
young and tender creature can by any possibility be considered as at all
likely to be implicated in a crime so monstrous and unnatural. The mere
assertion of another woman's suspicions on the subject ought not----"

But here Mr. Gryce interrupted me. "You talk when your attention should
be directed to more important matters. That other woman, as you are
pleased to designate the fairest ornament of New York society, sits over
there in tears; go and comfort her."

Looking at him in amazement, I hesitated to comply; but, seeing he was
in earnest, crossed to Mary Leavenworth and sat down by her side.
She was weeping, but in a slow, unconscious way, as if grief had been
mastered by fear. The fear was too undisguised and the grief too natural
for me to doubt the genuineness of either.

"Miss Leavenworth," said I, "any attempt at consolation on the part of a
stranger must seem at a time like this the most bitter of mockeries; but
do try and consider that circumstantial evidence is not always absolute
proof."

Starting with surprise, she turned her eyes upon me with a slow,
comprehensive gaze wonderful to see in orbs so tender and womanly.

"No," she repeated; "circumstantial evidence is not absolute proof, but
Eleanore does not know this. She is so intense; she cannot see but one
thing at a time. She has been running her head into a noose, and oh,--"
Pausing, she clutched my arm with a passionate grasp: "Do you think
there is any danger? Will they--" She could not go on.

"Miss Leavenworth," I protested, with a warning look toward the
detective, "what do you mean?"

Like a flash, her glance followed mine, an instant change taking place
in her bearing.

"Your cousin may be intense," I went on, as if nothing had occurred;
"but I do not know to what you refer when you say she has been running
her head into a noose."

"I mean this," she firmly returned: "that, wittingly or unwittingly, she
has so parried and me