exchanged glances. But we were silent—and our silence was surely more expressive than words.

Chapter Three.

Describes a Man and a Mystery.

“It’s probably some poor beggar who’s committed suicide,” I remarked, in order to allay Rainer’s suspicions, if he had noticed the change in our countenances when he made his startling announcement.

“He’s badly-dressed, Harris says. Perhaps he’s a tramp,” remarked the servant.

“Perhaps so. We want nothing more, Rainer, to-night,” I added.

“Very good, sir,” and the man bowed and withdrew, closing the door after him.

“What shall we do?” whispered Eric, quickly, his face pale beneath the sun-tan.

I stood staring at my friend, unable to utter a word.

Was that Sybil’s secret—the secret that she had been so very near revealing to me? I recollected those strange words of hers, “You would hate me!” Yes, her secret was a guilty one.

“Do?” I echoed at last in a low whisper, fearing Rainer might be listening. “Why, we must make our own inquiries before those local busybodies of police step in and bungle the affair. She must be saved—don’t you agree?”

“Yes. At all costs we must save her,” he cried quickly. “Let’s go out and see who the fellow is.”

“Not yet. Wait for half an hour or so, until they’re all gone to bed. The servants’ hall is all in a flutter, it seems, and the maids will be about frightened and whispering. If we are to get away unseen we must slip out of yonder window. All the doors are closed now, and the dogs are loose in the courtyard.”

“You’re right, old fellow. We must wait a bit,” he agreed. “But what’s your private opinion of the affair?”

“I have none,” was my blank reply. “Until I have some proof, I suspect nobody.”

“Quite so. Let’s leave Tibbie entirely out of the question. Remember, not a word to anyone of what I’ve told you, for I’m the principal witness against her. Think, if they called me. My evidence would condemn her!”

“I regard all that you’ve told me, Eric, as unsaid,” I responded. “Tibbie is my 

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