The offices of Asher, Son, and Asher were situated in a dark, narrow street in the City, which led down to the river. In former days the place might have been respectable, and then the original Asher had set up his official tent in the neighborhood; but civilization had moved westward, and Terry Street was looked on askance by fashionable solicitors. Nevertheless the firm of Asher continued to dwell in the dingy office, where their progenitors had slaved for close on a hundred years. It was quite good enough, thought the present head of the firm, for such well-known lawyers.

The firm did a good old-fashioned business, eminently respectable and safe. None of the three partners was a sharper, as Morley asserted; but as the firm had issued a judgment summons against the master of The Elms, he could scarcely be expected to think well of them. Old Mr. Asher rarely came to the office, preferring his country house and melon beds, and the business was conducted by the son and the other Asher, who was a cousin. Both these gentlemen were over forty, and in spite of a modern education were decidedly old-fashioned. There was something in the musty air of the Terry Street office that petrified them into old men before their due time. The three clerks who sat in the outer rooms were also elderly, and the sole youthful creature about the place was the office boy, a red-haired imp who answered to the name of Alexander. His surname was Benker, but was not thought sufficiently dignified for use in so sedate a place of business.

With some difficulty Steel found this musty haunt of the legal Muse, and sent up his name to the senior partner with a request for an interview. Alexander, whistling between his teeth, led him into a frowzy apartment lined with books and tin boxes, and furnished with a green baize-covered table heaped with legal papers, three chairs, and a mahogany sofa of the Early Victorian period. Mr. Asher, the son, might have belonged to the same epoch, in spite of his age, so rusty and smug did he look. His face was clean-shaven with the exception of side-whiskers; his hair was thin on the top and sparse on the sides, and he was dressed in a suit of solemn black, with a satin tie to match. In fact, he was the typical lawyer of melodrama, and Steel was surprised to find so ancient a survival in these modern days. But when they began to talk Asher proved to be quite able to hold his own, and was not at all fossilized in brain, whatever he might be in appearance. He knew not only the name of Steel, but all about the case and Steel's connection therewith. He referred in feeling terms to Daisy's death.

"A very charming girl, Mr. Steel," said the young-old lawyer. "On several occasions she has been here to draw her little income. It is sad that she should have met with her death at the hands of a jealous woman at the very time she was about to enjoy a legacy of five thousand a year."

"You don't say so!" cried Steel, who had heard nothing of this.

"Ah! Mr. Morley never informed you of the fact."

"Well, no, he didn't; but then, I have not seen him for over a week. I believe he is at Brighton with his wife. Who left this money to the late Miss Kent?"

"A relative of hers who died lately in Australia."

"And failing her who inherits?"

Mr. Asher reflected. "I don't know that you have any right to ask that question," he said, after a pause.

"Pardon me," replied the detective. "Miss Kent was murdered. I fancied that the money might have something to do with the commission of the crime."

"No, Mr. Steel. I read the evidence given at the inquest. Jealousy was the motive of the crime, and Miss Denham is guilty."

"I am somewhat of that way of thinking myself, Mr. Asher. And on the face of it there is no other way of accounting for the murder. Nevertheless it is just as well to look at the matter from all sides. The crime may be connected with the question of this fortune. You may as well tell me what I wish to know. I'll keep my mouth closed."

"Are you going to accuse our client of the crime?" asked Asher dryly. "I fear you will waste your time if you do. Since you look at the matter in this way, I don't mind speaking about what after all is not your business."

"That is as it may be," returned Steel enigmatically.

Asher passed this remark over. "Failing Miss Kent, the five thousand a year goes to George Franklin, a brother-in-law of the testator. We lately received a letter from him, informing us that he intended to claim the money."

"How did he know that he would inherit?"

"We advertised for him. He is quite unaware of the death of Miss Kent, and I daresay thinks Mr. Powell left the fortune to him direct."

"You can't be certain of his ignorance. However, let us give him the benefit of the doubt. Where did he write from?"

"From Florence, in Italy, where he has lived for four years. He will be in London next week, and if you want to see him – "

"I'll think of it," interrupted Steel. "There may be no need to trouble Mr. Franklin. At present I am searching for this clerk of yours, who went off with Miss Denham."

The lawyer raised his eyebrows with manifest surprise. "A clerk of ours, Mr. Steel? I don't quite follow you."

"I refer to the man who served a judgment summons on Mr. Morley."

"A boy served that," explained Asher. "The boy who showed you in."

Steel stared hard at the solicitor, trying to understand why he had made such a statement. "But that is absurd," he remarked. "I know that nothing was said at the inquest about the matter, as Mr. Morley did not wish it to be known that he was in such difficulties. But a tall man, with a reddish beard, dressed in a great-coat, with a white scarf, served the summons. Afterwards he went to the midnight service in the parish church, and lured Miss Kent outside by means of a note, which we cannot find. From what I have gathered this man went with Miss Denham in Mr. Ware's motor-car. He fled with her, and I fancy he must be either the assassin or an accessory after the fact."

Asher heard all this with extreme surprise. When Steel concluded he touched the bell. Alexander responded with his usual cheerful and impudent air. His master addressed him with some severity. "What about that summons which was served by you on Mr. Morley, of Rickwell?" he demanded.

The lad grew crimson to his ears, and looked at the floor much embarrassed. "I served it all right, sir," he mumbled.

"You served it," struck in Steel, with emphasis. "That is quite untrue. A tall man with a red beard served it."

"Alexander, tell the truth. What does this mean?"

The boy began to sob, and drew his coat-sleeve across his eye with a snuffle. "I thought it was all right," he said, "or I should not have given it to him."

"The summons! You gave it to someone to serve?"

"Yes, sir. To Mr. Wilson, mother's lodger."

"Is he tall? Has he a pale face and a red beard?" asked Steel.

"He has, sir. He's been with mother six months, and was always kind. When I got the summons he said that he was going into the country, and would serve it on Mr. Morley."

"Alexander," said Asher in an awful tone, "I gave you money for your railway fare to go to Rickwell. What have you done with that money, wretched boy?"

"I went to the Hippodrome with another boy," wept Alexander. "I thought as I'd take the holiday, as you'd think I was in the country. Please, sir, I'm very sorry, but I thought Mr. Wilson was all right."

"Did Mr. Wilson come back to say that all was right?" demanded Steel sharply.

"No, sir, he didn't. Mother and I ain't set eyes on him since he went away to serve the summons. I was afraid to tell you, sir," he added to his master, "'cause I knew I'd done wrong. But I hope you won't be hard on me, sir."

"Alexander," said Mr. Asher, "you have disgraced a most respectable office, and can no longer continue in it. You have spent money, you have wasted time, both given to you for a certain purpose. For the sake of your mother, who is a hard-working woman, I shall not take any legal steps. But from this day you cease to be in our employment. Your wages for the week shall be confiscated, since you have made free with my money. At five to-day, Alexander, you leave this place forever."

"Oh, sir – please, sir – I didn't – "

"Alexander, I have spoken. You can depart."

With a howl the boy went out of the room, and sat weeping in the outer office for at least ten minutes. He was wondering what he should say to his mother, for she was a terrible woman, with a short temper and a hard hand. His fellow-clerks demanded what was the matter, but Alexander had sense enough to keep his own counsel. All he said was that the governor had discharged him, and then he wept afresh.

While thus employed Steel made his appearance. He had been discussing the matter with Asher, and had proposed a course of action in connection with the delinquent to which Asher agreed. He advanced to the weeping Alexander and lifted him from his seat by the collar.

"Come, young man," said he, "take me home to your mother at once."

"Oh, Lor'," cried Alexander, "she'll give me beans!"

"You deserve the worst beating she can give you," said Steel severely, while the clerks grinned. "However, you must come with me. Where do you live?"

"Warder Street, Lambeth," snuffled Alexander, and urged by the hand on his collar, went out of the office with the detective.

"We'll take a hansom," said Steel, and shortly was ensconced in one with the miserable Alexander.

As a rule a ride in a hansom would have been a joy to Master Benker, but he was too much afraid of the meeting with his mother to take any pleasure in the treat. However, he relied on the promise of the detective that he would sooth the maternal ire, and managed to reply fairly well to the questions Steel asked. These referred to Mr. Wilson.

"Who is he?" demanded the detective.

"Mother's lodger," replied Alexander; "he's been with her six months, and mother thought a deal of him. He was kind to me."

"Ah! Was he well off?"

"I don't know. He paid his rent regular, but he wore shabby clothes, and was always out. I only saw him at night when I came home from the office."

"Did he ask you many questions about the office?"

"Oh, yes. He said he wished me to get on – that I was a smart boy, and a credit to my mother."

"So you are," answered Steel genially. "I'm sure she'll give you a proof of her approval to-day. Now don't cry, boy." Steel shook Alexander, and then demanded suddenly, "You copy all the letters, do you not?"

"Yes, I do," answered Master Benker, wondering why this was asked.

"And you read them sometimes?"

"Nearly always. I like to know what's going on. Mr. Wilson said I should make myself acquainted with everything."

"I'm sure he did," muttered Steel ironically. "Did you read any letter saying that Miss Kent had inherited a fortune? Miss Daisy Kent, who lived with Mr. Morley at Rickwell?"

Alexander thought for a moment. "Yes, I did. It was a letter to some lawyers in Sydney."

"Did you tell Mr. Wilson about it?"

"Yes, sir. He was always talking about people coming in for money, and I said that a girl called Miss Kent had come in for five thousand a year."

"I thought so. When did you tell Mr. Wilson this?"

"Three days after Christmas."

"Before he offered to serve the summons?"

"Why, I hadn't got the summons then," said Alexander. "Mr. Asher gave it to me the day before New Year. I said I was going into the country to Rickwell, for Mr. Wilson asked me what I was making myself smart for. He said he'd take the summons, and that I could go to the Hippodrome with Jim Tyler."

"Which you did on your employer's money. You are a smart lad, Alexander. What did your mother say?"

"Mother was out when I came home with the summons, and after Mr. Wilson said he'd take it I didn't say anything to her."

"Then she thought that on the day before the New Year you were at the office as usual?"

"Yes," snuffled Master Benker, "she did. Oh, Lor'!" as the cab stopped before a tidy house in a quiet street, "here we are."

"And there is your mother," said the detective cheerfully, as a severe face appeared at the white-curtained window.

Alexander wept afresh as Steel paid the cabman, and positively howled when the door opened and his mother – a lean woman in a black dress, with a widow's cap – appeared. He would have run away but that Steel again had a hand on his collar.

"Alexander," cried his mother harshly, "what have you been doing?"

"Nothing very dreadful, ma'am," interposed Steel. "It will be all right. Let me in, and I'll speak for my young friend."

"And who may you be, sir?" demanded Mrs. Benker, bristling.

"A personal friend of Mr. Asher's."

On hearing this dreaded name Mrs. Benker softened, and welcomed Steel into a neat parlor, where he seated himself in a horsehair mahogany chair of the most slippery description and related what had happened. Alexander stood by and wept all the time. He wept more when his mother spoke.

"I expected it," she said in quiet despair; "that boy is the bane of my life. I'll speak to you shortly, Alexander. Go to your room and retire to bed."

"Oh, mother! mother!" cried Master Benker, writhing at the prospect of a thorough whipping.

"Go to your room, Alexander, and make ready," repeated the widow, with a glare, and the boy retired slowly, wriggling and snuffling. When his sobs died away and an upstairs door was heard to close with a bang, Mrs. Benker addressed herself to Steel.

"I hope you will induce Mr. Asher to overlook this," she said, clasping a pair of lean, mittened hands; "I am so poor."

"I'll do my best," responded Steel; "that is, if you will give me some information about your late lodger, Mr. Wilson."

"Why should I do that?" asked Mrs. Benker suspiciously.

"Because Mr. Asher wishes to know all about him. You see, your son allowed Mr. Wilson to serve this summons, and it is necessary that Mr. Asher should learn where he is."

"That's only fair; but I don't know. Mr. Wilson has not returned here since he left on the day before New Year."

"Did he leave any luggage behind him?"

"No, sir, he didn't." Mrs. Benker paused, then continued, "I'll tell you exactly how it occurred, if Mr. Asher will make some allowance for the wickedness of that wretched boy of mine."

"I'll see what can be done, and use my influence with Mr. Asher."

"Thank you, sir," said the widow gratefully. "Well, sir, I was absent all the last day of the year, as I was seeing a married daughter of mine in Marylebone. Mr. Wilson was in the house when I left at ten in the morning, but said nothing about going away. When I returned at six in the evening I found that he was gone bag and baggage, and that he had left his rent on the table. Also a note saying that he was suddenly called away and would not return."

"Have you the note?" asked Steel, thinking it just as well to have some specimen of Wilson's handwriting.

Mrs. Benker shook her head. "I burnt it," she replied; "it was only written in pencil and not worth keeping. I must say that Mr. Wilson always behaved like a gentleman, although I saw little of him. He was queer in his habits."

"How do you mean – 'queer'?"

"Well, sir, I hardly ever saw him in the daytime, and when I did he usually kept his blinds down in his room, as he suffered from weak eyes. Even when he saw Alexander in the evening he would hardly have any light. Then sometimes he would lie in bed all the day, and be out all the night. At other times he would stay at home the whole of the twenty-four hours. But he always paid his rent regularly, and gave little trouble over his food. Yes," added Mrs. Benker, smoothing her apron, "Mr. Wilson was always a gentleman. I will say that."

"Humph!" thought Steel, taking all this in eagerly. "A queer kind of gentleman," he added aloud. "Did you know anything else about him, Mrs. Benker?"

"No, sir." She drew herself up primly. "I never pry – never."

"Did any one call to see Mr. Wilson?"

"No one. All the time he was here not one person called."

"Did he receive any letters?"

"No. Not one letter arrived."

"Queer," murmured Steel. "What newspaper did he take?"

"The Morning Post. Also he took the World, Truth, Modern Society, and M. A. P. He was fond of the fashionable intelligence."

"Oh, he was, was he? Would you have called him a gentleman?"

"He always paid his rent duly," hesitated Mrs. Benker, "so far he was a perfect gentleman. But I have lived as a lady's maid in the best families, sir, and I don't think Mr. Wilson was what you or I would call an aristocrat."

"I see. So you were a lady's maid once. In what families?"

Mrs. Benker was not at all averse to relating her better days, and did so with pride. "I was with the Countess of Flint, with Mrs. Harwitch, and with Lady Susan Summersdale."

"Ha!" said Steel, starting. He remembered that Morley had been concerned with Lady Summersdale about the robbery of her jewels. "Did you tell Mr. Wilson this?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. We had long talks about aristocratic families."

She repeated several tales she had told Wilson, and Steel asked her many questions. When he took his leave he asked a leading one: "Did Mr. Wilson wear a red cross as an ornament?"

"On his watch-chain he did," said Mrs. Benker, and Steel departed very satisfied with his day's work.

CHAPTER X
ON A FRESH TRAIL

If Giles Ware had not been desperately in love and desperately anxious to find Anne Denham, he would scarcely have gone to Paris on such a wild-goose chase. The postmark on the letter showed that she was, or she had been, in the French capital; but to find her in that immense city was like looking for a haystack in a league-long desert. However, Ware had an idea – foolish enough – that some instinct would guide him to her side, and, therefore, as soon as he recovered sufficiently to travel he crossed the Channel with Trim. He left Rickwell about three weeks after his interview with Morley. Time enough, as he well knew, for Anne to change her place of residence. But he trusted to luck.

For quite a fortnight he explored the city, accompanied by the faithful old servant. Trim had sharp eyes, and would be certain to recognize Anne if she came within eyesight. But in spite of their vigilance and observation, the two saw no one even distantly resembling Anne. Certainly if Giles had gone to the authorities, who take note of all who come and go, he might have been more successful. But knowing that Anne was wanted by the English police, he did not dare to adopt this method. He was forced to rely entirely on himself, and his search resulted in nothing.

"It ain't no good, Master Giles," said Trim for at least the tenth time; "we've lost the scent somehow. Better go back to London. I don't want you to be ill over here, sir, with nothing but foreign doctors to look after you."

"I shan't leave Paris until I am certain that she is not in the place," declared Ware resolutely.

"Well, sir, I don't know how much more certain you wants to be. We've tramped them bullyvardes and Chamy Elizas till our feet are near dropping off. You're looking a shadow, Master Giles, if you'll excuse an old man as nursed you when you were a baby. She ain't here. Now I shouldn't be surprised if she were in London," said Trim wisely.

"What, in the very jaws of the lion? Nonsense!"

"Oh, but is it, sir? I always heard it said by them as knows that the jaws of the lion is the very last place any one expects to find them." Trim did not state what "them" he meant. "If she went back to Rickwell she would be safe, especially if she laid up in some cottage and called herself a widder."

"Trim, you've been reading detective novels!"

"Not me, sir; I ain't got no time. But about this going back – "

"We'll go back to-morrow, Trim," said Ware, with sudden resolution. And Trim joyfully departed to pack.

It just struck Giles that after all Trim might be right, and that having thrown the police off the scent by going abroad in the yacht, Anne might return to London. She might be there now, living in some quiet suburb, while the police were wasting their time corresponding with the French authorities. Moreover, Ware thought it would be just as well to learn what Steel was doing. He had charge of the case and might have struck the trail. In that case Giles wanted to know, for he could then avert any possible danger from Anne. And finally he reflected that he might learn something about Anne's friends from the people at the Governesses' Institute where Mrs. Morley had engaged her. If she returned to London it was not impossible that she might have gone to hide in the house of some friend. Any one who knew Anne could be certain that she was not guilty of the crime she was accused of, and would assuredly aid her to escape the unjust law. So thought Giles in his ardor; but he quite forgot that every one was not in love with Anne, and would scarcely help her unless they were fully convinced of her innocence, and perhaps not even then. Most people have a holy horror of the law, and are not anxious to help those in danger of the long arm of justice.

However, Giles reasoned as above and forthwith left Paris for London. He took up his quarters in the Guelph Hotel, opposite the Park, and began his search for Anne again. Luckily he had obtained from Mrs. Morley the number of the Institute, which was in South Kensington, and the day after his arrival walked there to make inquiries. It was a very forlorn hope, but Ware saw no other chance of achieving his desire.

The Institute was a tall red-brick house, with green blinds and a prim, tidy look. He was shown into a prim parlor and interviewed by a prim old lady, who wore spectacles and had a pencil stuffed in the bosom of her black gown. However, she was less prim than she looked, and had a cheerful old ruddy face with a twinkling pair of kindly eyes. In her heart Mrs. Cairns admired this handsome young man who spoke so politely, and was more willing to afford him the desired information than if he had been elderly and ugly. Old as she was, the good lady was a true daughter of Eve, and her natural liking for the opposite sex had not been crushed out of her by years of education. Nevertheless when she heard the name of Anne she threw up her hands in dismay.

"Why do you come here to ask about that unfortunate girl?" she demanded, and looked severely at Giles. Before he could reply she glanced again at his card, which she held in her fingers, and started. "Giles Ware," she read, drawing a quick breath. "Are you – "

"I was engaged to the young lady who was killed," said Ware, surprised.

Mrs. Cairns' rosy face became a deep red. "And you doubtless wish to avenge her death by finding Miss Denham?"

"On the contrary, I wish to save Miss Denham."

"What! do you not believe her guilty?"

"No, Mrs. Cairns, I do not. Every one says she killed the girl, but I am certain that she is an innocent woman. I come to ask you if you can tell me where she is."

"Why do you come to me?" Mrs. Cairns went to see that the door was closed before she asked this question.

"I thought you might know of her whereabouts."

"Why should I?"

"Well, I admit that there is no reason why you should – at least, I thought so before I came here."

"And now?" She bent forward eagerly.

"Now I think that if she had come to you for refuge she would get help from you. I can see that you also believe her guiltless."

"I do," said Mrs. Cairns in a low voice. "I have known Anne for years and I am certain that she is not the woman to do a thing like this. She would not harm a fly."

"Then you can help me. You know where she is?"

Mrs. Cairns looked at his flushed face, at the light in his eyes. In her shrewd way she guessed the secret of this eagerness. "Then you love her," she said under her breath. "You love Anne."

"Why do you say that?" asked Giles, taken aback. He was not prepared to find that she could read him so easily.

"I remember," said Mrs. Cairns to herself, but loud enough for him to hear, "there was a Society paper said something about jealousy being the motive of the crime, and – "

"Do you mean to say that such a statement was in the papers?" asked Ware angrily, and with a flash of his blue eyes.

"It was in none of the big daily papers, Mr. Ware. They offered no explanation. But some Society reporter went down to Rickwell; to gather scandal from the servants, I suppose."

"Off from Mrs. Parry," muttered Giles; then aloud, "Yes?"

"Well, this man or woman – most probably it was a woman – made up a very pretty tale, which was printed in The Firefly."

"A scandalous paper," said Ware, annoyed. "What did it say?"

"That you were in love with Anne, that you were engaged to Miss Kent, and that to gain you as her husband Anne killed the girl."

"It's a foul lie. I'll horsewhip the editor and make him put in an apology."

"I shouldn't do that if I were you, Mr. Ware," said the old lady dryly. "Better let sleeping dogs lie. I don't believe the whole story myself – only part of it."

"What part, Mrs. Cairns?"

"That part which says you love Anne. I can see it in your face."

"If I can trust you – "

"Certainly you can. Anne is like my own child. I believe her guiltless of this terrible crime, and I would do anything to see her righted. She did not kill the girl."

"No, I believe the girl was killed by a nameless man who came to Rickwell from some firm of solicitors. I don't know why he murdered the poor child, no more than I can understand why Anne should have helped him to escape."

"You call her Anne," said Mrs. Cairns softly.

Giles flushed through the tan of his strong face.

"I have no right to do so," he said. "She never gave me permission. Mrs. Cairns, I assure you that there was no understanding between Miss Denham and myself. I was engaged by my father to Miss Kent, and we were to be married. I fell in love with Miss Denham, and I have reason to believe that she returned my love."

"She told you so?"

"No, no! She and I never said words like that to one another. We were friends; nothing more. Miss Kent chose to be jealous of a trifling gift I gave Miss Denham at Christmas, and there was trouble. Then came an anonymous letter, saying that Anne wished to kill Daisy."

"A letter, and said that?" exclaimed Mrs. Cairns in surprise. "But I can't understand it at all. Anne had no enemies, so far as I know. No one could hate so sweet a girl. Her father – "

"Did you know her father?" asked Ware quickly.

"No; but she often spoke of him. She was fond of her father, although he seems to have been a wandering Bohemian. He died at Florence."

"I wonder if he really did die."

"Of course. He – but it's a long story, Mr. Ware, and I have not the time to tell it to you. Besides, there is one who can tell you all about Anne and her father much better than I can. The Princess Karacsay. Do you know her?"

"I have seen the name somewhere."

"Probably on a programme," said Mrs. Cairns composedly. "Oh, don't look so astonished. The Princess is really a Hungarian aristocrat. She quarrelled with her people, and came to England with very little money. To keep herself alive she tried to become a governess. Afterwards, having a beautiful voice, she became a concert singer. I hear she is very popular."

"How should she know about Anne – I mean Miss Denham?"

"Because if there is any woman to whom Anne would go in her distress, it would be the Princess. She met Anne here while she was a governess, and the two became great friends. They were always together. I do not know where Anne is, Mr. Ware. She did not come to me, nor has she written; but if she is in England the Princess will know."

"Do you think she would tell me?" asked Giles eagerly.

"I really don't know. She is romantic, and if she learned that you loved Anne she might be inclined to help you. But that would depend upon Anne herself. How is she disposed towards you?"

For answer Giles related the episode of the foreign letter, with the drawing of the coin and the one word "Innocent." Mrs. Cairns listened quietly, and nodded.

"Evidently Anne values your good opinion. I think you had better tell all this to the Princess." She hastily wrote a few lines. "This is her address."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!"

"And, Mr. Ware," added the old lady, laying a kind hand on his arm, "if you hear about Anne, come and tell me. I hope with all my soul that you will be able to save the poor child."

"If human aid can prove her innocence, you can depend upon me," was Ware's reply. And taking leave of Mrs. Cairns, he left the Institute with his heart beating and his head in the air.

Giles was glad that his good fortune had led him to meet this true friend of the woman he loved. He was also glad that he had been so open with her about his passion, else she might not have sent him to the Princess Karacsay. As the name came into his mind he glanced down at the paper, which he still held. The address of Anne's friend was "42, Gilbert Mansions, Westminster." Giles resolved to lose no time in looking her up. She would be able to tell him where Anne was, and also might be able to explain the mystery of Anne's life in general, and her conduct at Rickwell in particular.

For there was some mystery about Miss Denham. Ware was quite certain on that point. She had said that her father was dead, and circumstances pointed to the fact that her father was alive and was the nameless man who had appeared and disappeared so suddenly. Then there was the strange episode of the anonymous letter, and the queer reference therein to the Scarlet Cross. Also the fact that the yacht in which Anne had fled was called The Red Cross. All these things hinted at a mystery, and such might in some indirect way be connected with the death of Daisy Kent. Anne had not killed her; but since she had aided the murderer to escape she must have condoned the crime in some way. Ware shuddered as he looked at the matter in this light. What if Anne knew something about the matter after all? The next moment he put the thought from him with anger. Anne was good and pure, and her hands were clean from the stain of blood. Such a woman would not – could not commit a crime either directly or indirectly. When he saw her he would ask for an explanation, and once she opened her mouth all would be made plain.