“What?” I managed to ask. 

 “That I do not like Mr. Durand and—that others do not like him.” 

 “Is it because of something you knew about him before to-night?” 

 He made no answer. 

 “Or because he was seen, like many other gentlemen, talking with that woman some time before—a long time before—she was attacked for her diamond and murdered?” 

 “Pardon me, my dear, he was the last one seen talking to her. Some one may yet be found who went in after he came out, but as yet he is considered the last. Mr. Ramsdell himself told me so.” 

 “It makes no difference,” I exclaimed, in all the heat of my long-suppressed agitation. “I am willing to stake my life on his integrity and honor. No man could talk to me as he did early this evening with any vile intentions at heart. He was interested, no doubt, like many others, in one who had the name of being a captivating woman, but—” 

 I paused in sudden alarm. A look had crossed my uncle’s face which assured me that we were no longer alone. Who could have entered so silently? In some trepidation I turned to see. A gentleman was standing in the doorway, who smiled as I met his eye. 

 “Is this Miss Van Arsdale?” he asked. 

 Instantly my courage, which had threatened to leave me, returned and I smiled. 

 “I am,” said I. “Are you the inspector?” 

 “Inspector Dalzell,” he explained with a bow, which included my uncle. 

 Then he closed the door. 

 “I hope I have not frightened you,” he went on, approaching me with a gentlemanly air. “A little matter has come up concerning which I mean to be perfectly frank with you. It may prove to be of trivial importance; if so, you will pardon my disturbing you. Mr. Durand—you know him?” 

 “I am engaged to him,” I declared before poor uncle could raise his hand. 

 “You are engaged to him. Well, that makes it difficult, and yet, in some respects, easier for me to ask a certain question.” 

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