ve with each other; at all events, her story proved
that she was so deeply in love with Penreath that she had displayed
unusual force of character in her efforts to shield him. But that
knowledge did not carry them any further towards a solution of the
mystery. It was with but a faint hope of eliciting anything of real
value that he turned to her and said:

"There is one point of your story on which I am not quite clear. You
said that in the morning, when you heard of the recovery of Mr.
Glenthorpe's body from the pit, you knew that Mr. Penreath was the
murderer. Why were you so sure of that? Was is because you picked up the
knife with which the murder was committed? The knife was a clue--the
police theory of course is that Penreath secreted the knife at the
dinner table for the purpose of committing the murder--but, by itself,
it was hardly a convincing clue. Was there something else that made you
feel sure he was guilty of this crime?"

"Yes, there was something else," she repeated slowly.

"I thought as much. And that something else was the match-box--is that
not so?"

"Yes, it was the match-box," she repeated again, this time almost in a
whisper.

"What was there about the match-box that made you feel so certain?"

"Must I tell you that?" she said, looking at him helplessly.

"Of course you must tell me." Colwyn's face was stern. "As I told you
before, nothing you can do or say can hurt him now, and the only hope of
helping him is by telling the whole truth."

"It was his match-box. It had his monogram on it."

"You have brought it with you?"

For answer she took something from the bosom of her dress and laid it,
with a heart-broken look, in Colwyn's hand. The article was a small
match-box, with a regimental badge in enamel on one side, and on the
other some initials in monogram. Colwyn examined it closely.

"I see the initials are J.R.P.," he said. "How did you know they were
his initials? You knew his name?"

"Yes. He used to light cigarettes with matches from that match-box when
I was with him, and one day I asked him to show it to me. He did so, and
I asked him what the initials were for, and he told me they stood for
his own name--James Ronald Penreath. And then he told me much about
himself and his family, and--and he said he cared for me, but he was not
free."

She gave out the last few words in a low tone, and stood looking at him
like a girl who had exposed the most sacred secret of her hear