way of Middle Temple Lane and the Embankment; not a very direct route
for Fetter Lane, it must be confessed; but our talk had revived my
interest in the Bellingham household and put me in a reflective vein.

From the remarkable conversation that I had overheard it was evident
that the plot was thickening. Not that I supposed that these two
respectable gentlemen really suspected one another of having made away
with the missing man; but still, their unguarded words, spoken in anger,
made it clear that each had allowed the thought of sinister
possibilities to enter his mind--a dangerous condition that might easily
grow into actual suspicion. And then the circumstances really were
highly mysterious, as I realised with especial vividness now after
listening to my friend's analysis of the evidence.

From the problem itself my mind travelled, not for the first time during
the last few days, to the handsome girl who had seemed in my eyes the
high-priestess of this temple of mystery in the quaint little court.
What a strange figure she made against this strange background, with her
quiet, chilly, self-contained manner, her pale face, so sad and worn,
her black, straight brows and solemn grey eyes, so inscrutable,
mysterious, Sibylline. A striking, even impressive, personality this, I
reflected, with something in it sombre and enigmatic that attracted and
yet repelled.

And here I recalled Jervis's words: "The girl must have been in it if
the father was." It was a dreadful thought, even though only
speculatively uttered, and my heart rejected it; rejected it with an
indignation that rather surprised me. And this notwithstanding that the
sombre black-robed figure that my memory conjured up was one that
associated itself appropriately enough with the idea of mystery and