She heard a voice behind her, and turned. It was the deformed but potent
Denzil. He was greyer now. His head, a little to one side, seemed sunk
in his square shoulders, but his eyes were bright.

"It's all a bad scrape--that about Fabian Grier," he said. "You can't
ever tell about such things, how they'll go--but no, bagosh!"




CHAPTER IV

THE HOUSE ON THE HILL

John Grier's house had a porch with Corinthian pillars. Its elevation
was noble, but it was rather crudely built, and it needed its grove of
maples to make it pleasant to the eye. It was large but not too ample,
and it had certain rooms with distinct character.

Inside the house, John Grier paused a moment before the door of the
sitting-room where his wife usually sat. All was silent. He opened the
door. A woman rose to meet him. She was dressed in black. Her dark
hair, slightly streaked with grey, gave her distinction. Her eyes had
soft understanding; her lips had a reflective smile. There was, however,
uneasiness in her face; her fingers slightly trembled on the linen she
was holding.

"You're home early, John," she said in a gentle, reserved voice.

He twisted a shoulder. "Yes, I'm home early," he snapped. "Your boy