"That was a fad of Courtenay's, you know. Wherever he went, he'd
never be photographed. He was annoyed that day that your father
should have taken him unawares. He hated being 'done,' he said. He's
so handsome and so nice, but he's not a bit conceited. And he was
such a splendid bicyclist! He rode over and back on his bicycle that
day, and then ran in all the races as if it were nothing."

A light burst over me at once. This was circumstantial evidence. The
murderer who disappeared as if by magic the moment his crime was
committed must have come and gone all unseen, no doubt, on his
bicycle. He must have left it under the window till his vile deed
was done, and then leapt out upon it in a second and dashed off
whence he came like a flash of lightning.

It was a premeditated crime, in that case, not the mere casual
result of a sudden quarrel.

I must find out this man now, were it only to relieve my own sense
of mystery.

"Minnie," I said once more, screwing up my courage to ask, "where's
Dr. Ivor now? I mean--that is to say--in what part of Canada?"

Minnie looked at me and laughed.

"There, I told you so!" she said, merrily. "It's not the least bit
of use your pretending you're not in love with him, Una. Why, just
look how you tremble! You're as white as a ghost! And then you say
you don't care for poor Courtenay! I forget the exact name of the
place where he lives, but I've got it in my desk, and I can tell you