."

"And Vail was not a lawyer," she asked breathlessly, "nor Neale one of
the executors?"

"In my judgment the fellows merely took those names to impose upon me,
to help bolster up their story, and make it appear probable. They were
simply two crooks, willing to take a chance for a pot of money. I
happened to be the one selected to pull their chestnuts out of the
fire."

I saw her head sink into the support of her hands, and knew she was
sobbing silently.

CHAPTER XXXIII

WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER

"You think my conclusions must be correct?" I could not refrain from
asking.

"Yes; even without seeing the letter, but," and she glanced up quickly,
"the ring--Philip's ring--we found?"

"I forgot to mention that. Its presence here alone is convincing. It
was sent to Charles Henley by his agent, who claimed to have removed it
from the finger of the dead man."

"Then every doubt is removed; the one killed was my hus--husband."

There was a long, painful silence, during which I stared out into the
dark, mechanically guiding the boat, although every thought centered on
her motionless figure. What should I say? how was I to approach her
now? Before there had always been a frank spirit of comradeship
between us; no reserve, no hesitancy in the exchange of confidences.
But with this assurance of Philip Henley's death, everything was
changed. I longed to go to her and pour out my sympathy, but some
instinct held me back, held me wordless. I knew not what to say, or
how any effort on my part would be received. Instantly there had been
a barrier erected between us which she alone could lower. Those were
long minutes I sat there, speechless, gazing straight ahead, my brain
inert, my hand hard on the tiller. Suddenly, with a swift thrill which
sent my blood leaping, I felt the soft touch of her fingers.

"Are you afraid to speak to me?" she asked, pleadingly. "Surely I have
said nothing to anger you."

"No, it is not that," I returned in confusion, not knowing how to
express the cause of my hesitancy. "I am sorry, and--and I sympathize
with you, but I hardly know how to explain."

She was looking at me through the darkness; I was able to distinguish
the white outline of her uplifted face.

"I am sorry--yes," very slowly, "but perhaps not as you suppose. It is
hard to think of him as dead--killed so suddenly, without opportunity
to think, or make any preparation. He--he was my husband under the
l