"That's quite true," I answered. "I admit that I can't feel it all
as deeply as I ought. But none the less, I've come down here to make
a violent effort. Let it cost what it may, I must get at the truth.
I wanted to see whether the sight of The Grange and of Woodbury may
help me to recall the lost scenes in my memory."

To my immense surprise, Dr. Marten rose from his seat, and standing
up before me in a perfect agony of what seemed like terror, half
mixed with affection, exclaimed in a very earnest and resolute
voice:

"Oh, Una, my child, whatever you do--I beg of you--I implore
you--don't try to recall the past at all! Don't attempt it! Don't
dream of it!"

"Why not?" I cried, astonished. "Surely it's my duty to try and find
out my father's murderer!"

Instead of answering me, he looked about him for half a minute in
suspense, as if doubtful what next to do or to say. Then he walked
across with great deliberation to the door of the room, and locked
and double-locked it with furtive alarm, as I interpreted his
action.

So terrified did he seem, indeed, that for a moment the idea
occurred to me in a very vague way--Was I talking with the murderer?
Had the man who himself committed the crime conducted the post
mortem, and put Justice off the scent? And was I now practically at
the mercy of the criminal I was trying to track down? The thought