r must have produced its
impression, for he turned a startled and inquiring look upon my
companion, then took me resolutely on his own arm, saying:

"There is likely to be some unpleasantness ahead for all of us. I do
not think the police will allow any one to go till that diamond has
been looked for. This is a very serious matter, dear. So many think the
murderer was one of the guests."

"I think so, too," said I. But why I thought so or why I should say so
with such vehemence, I do not know even now.

My uncle looked surprised.

"You had better not advance any opinions," he advised. "A lady like
yourself should have none on a subject so gruesome. I shall never
cease regretting bringing you here tonight. I shall seize on the first
opportunity to take you home. At present we are supposed to await the
action of our host."

"He can not keep all these people here long," I ventured.

"No; most of us will be relieved soon. Had you not better get your wraps
so as to be ready to go as soon as he gives the word?"

"I should prefer to have a peep at the people in the drawing-room
first," was my perverse reply. "I don't know why I want to see them,
but I do; and, uncle, I might as well tell you now that I engaged myself
to Mr. Durand this evening--the gentleman with me when you first came
up."

"You have engaged yourself to--to this man--to marry him, do you mean?"

I nodded, with a sly look behind to see if Mr. Durand were near enough
to hear. He was not, and I allowed my enthusiasm to escape in a few
quick words.

"He has chosen me," I said, "the plainest, most uninteresting puss in
the whole city." My uncle smiled. "And I believe he loves me; at all
events, I know that I love him."

My uncle sighed, while giving me the most affectionate of glances.

"It's a pity you should have come to this understanding to-night," said
he. "He's an acquaintance of the murdered woman, and it is only right
for you to know that you will have to leave him behind when you start
for home. All who have been seen entering that alcove this evening will
necessarily be detained here till the coroner arrives."

My uncle and I strolled toward the drawing-room and as we did so we
passed the library. It held but one occupant, the Englishman. He was
seated before a table, and his appearance was such as precluded any
attempt at intrusion, even if one had been so disposed. There was a
fixity in his gaze and a frown on his powerful forehead whic