spoken the word which had caused Boyne to rise and follow him.
The floor she trod had felt his tread; the books on the shelves
had seen his face; and there were moments when the intense
consciousness of the old, dusky walls seemed about to break out
into some audible revelation of their secret. But the revelation
never came, and she knew it would never come. Lyng was not one
of the garrulous old houses that betray the secrets intrusted to
them. Its very legend proved that it had always been the mute
accomplice, the incorruptible custodian of the mysteries it had
surprised. And Mary Boyne, sitting face to face with its
portentous silence, felt the futility of seeking to break it by
any human means.



V


"I don't say it WASN'T straight, yet don't say it WAS straight.
It was business."

Mary, at the words, lifted her head with a start, and looked
intently at the speaker.

When, half an hour before, a card with "Mr. Parvis" on it had
been brought up to her, she had been immediately aware that the
name had been a part of her consciousness ever since she had read
it at the head of Boyne's unfinished letter. In the library she
had found awaiting her a small neutral-tinted man with a bald
head and gold eye-glasses, and it sent a strange tremor through