determine this until he learned the cause of the slaying of Percival.
Then, on the other hand, suppose some one else's suspicions were also
aroused. Who would they naturally look to as guilty of this horrible
crime? There was but one answer--Natalie Coolidge. She was seemingly
the only person to directly benefit by this sudden death. All these
considerations urged him on, overcame his doubt and indecision. Then
he desired to learn the truth himself. His eyes rested on Sexton's
anxious face.

"I've been thinking it over," he admitted quietly, "and I guess it is up
to you and me to find out what this means."

"Yes, sir," hesitatingly. "You--you don't think it was Miss
Natalie, sir?"

"No, I do not, Sexton. I have my own reasons for saying that. Yet
naturally she is the one to be first suspected. Do you know anything?"

"Only that I am sure she was in the garden, sir, when the shot was fired.
I saw her there just after you drove away."

"That is conclusive then, so far as her personal actions are concerned.
But there is an odd angle to this matter, and I might as well explain it
to you first as last. Perhaps you can help figure the oddness out. I was
not engaged to Miss Natalie, Sexton; I was not even a friend. I came to
the house, employed to perform a certain task. She introduced me as her
fiancé merely to explain my presence there, and make the way clear. It
was the impulse of a moment."

"You don't say, sir! What, may I ask, was it you was expected to do?"