of which the police remain in ignorance. Although you refused to tell
me--why, I cannot discern--the name of the unfortunate girl who lost her
life, I have succeeded in gaining knowledge of it. Was not the girl named
Marie Bracq?"

She started again at hearing the name.

"Yes," she replied at once. "Who told you?"

"I discovered it for myself," I replied. "Who was the girl--tell me?"

"A friend of Digby Kemsley's."

"A foreigner, of course?"

"Yes, Belgian, I believe."

"From Brussels, eh?"

"Perhaps. I don't know for certain."

"And she learned some great secret of Digby's, which was the motive of
the crime," I suggested.

But my love only shook her pretty head blankly, saying--"I don't know.
Perhaps she knew something to his detriment."

"And in order to silence her, she was killed," I suggested.

"Perhaps."

She made no protest of her own innocence, I noticed. She seemed to place
herself unreservedly in my hands to judge her as I thought fit.

Yet had not her own admissions been extremely strange ones. Had she not
practically avowed her guilt?

"Can you tell me nothing concerning this Belgian girl?" I asked her a few
moments later.

"I only knew her but very slightly."

"Pardon me putting to you such a pointed question, Phrida. But were you
jealous of her?"

"Jealous!" she ejaculated. "Why, dear me, no. Why should I be jealous?
Who suggested that?"

"Mrs. Petre. She declares that your jealousy was the motive of the crime,
and that Digby himself can bear witness to it."

"She said that?" cried my love, her eyes flashing in fierce anger. "She's
a wicked liar."

"I know she is, and I intend to prove her so," I replied with confidence.
"When she and I meet again we have an account to settle. You will see."

"Ah! Teddy, beware of her! She's a dangerous woman--highly dangerous,"
declared my love apprehensively. "You don't know her as I do--you do not
know the grave evil and utter ruin she has brought upon others. So I beg
of you to be careful not to be entrapped."

"Have others been entrapped, then?" I asked with great curiosity.

"I don't know. No. Please don't ask me," she protested. "I don't know."

Her response was unreal. My well-beloved was I knew in possession of some
terrible secret which she dared not betray. Yet why were her lips sealed?
What did she fear?

"I intend to find Digby, and demand the truth from him," I said after we
had been silent for a long time. "I will never res