"I suspected something wrong, the moment you told me of things that
looked new and good; but I did not want to raise a panic in the mill,
when there might be some other explanation. I thought I had taken
every precaution--what is that?"

He turned quickly, hearing a low cry behind him. Mary Denison was
standing with clasped hands, her face white with terror.

"Mary!" said Mr. Gordon, in amazement. "You--surely you have had
nothing to do with this?"

"No, sir!" cried Mary. "Oh, no, Mr. Gordon, indeed I have not. But I
fear--I fear I know who has. Oh, poor thing! poor Lena!"

Then, with an impulse she could not explain, she turned suddenly
upon Hitchcock.

"Who let Lena Laxen into the yard last night?" she cried. "She could
not have got in without help. You had a key--you were talking to her
after I left her yesterday. Oh! look at him, Mr. Gordon! Mr. Myers,
look at that man!"

But Hitchcock did not seem to hear or heed her. He sat crouched over
his desk, his face a greenish-gray color, his eyes staring, his
hands clutching the woodwork convulsively; an awful figure of terror,
that gasped and cowered before them. Then suddenly, with a cry that
rattled in his throat, he dashed from his seat and ran bareheaded
out of the door.