At the Rectory, dinner was always placed on the table at seven o'clock, it being a law of the Medes and Persians that everyone should be in time. Yet, much to Claudia's distress, Edwin did not put in an appearance until the meal was half over. His parents were speculating as to what could be delaying him when he entered, cool and calm, but somewhat pale. With an apology for his late arrival, and for not having changed his dress, he sat down to cool soup and lukewarm fish.

Mrs. Craver felt annoyed, and said that she was. "Why did Lady Wyke keep you such a long time?" she asked, indignantly. "It was most inconsiderate of her. But, there, you can't expect manners from a person of that class."

"She did not keep me, mother," answered, Edwin, without raising his eyes, "for I left Maranatha some time ago, and have been walking about ever since thinking things over in detail."

"What things?" asked the Rector, curiously, and Claudia's eyes mutely put the same question.

"Those concerned with the murder of her husband."

"Then she did wish to see you about that crime?" said Mrs. Craver, sharply.

Edwin nodded. "She to have a good opinion of my qualities as a detective and asked me to help her to discover the truth."

"Well, I'm sure! And what next? As if you were in a position to waste your time attending to that business."

"Well, mother, I nave promised to do so. After all, Lady Wyke is a widow, and has no one to help her. Also, on behalf of the firm, since she is a good customer, it is policy on my part to keep in with her."

"I don't see that, Edwin," observed the Rector, shrewdly. "After all, you are an engineer, and not a detective."

"Oh, I don't mean to say that I am going to give up the substance for the shadow," said Edwin, cheerfully; "that is, I don't intend to leave my business to start on what may prove to be a wild-goose chase. But, between times, and when I have an unoccupied minute or so, it is easy for me to look round. And I think you are rather hard on Lady Wyke, mother. She isn't at all a bad sort."

Mrs. Craver sniffed and straightened her spare figure. "I don't like the woman."

"Well," remarked Edwin, with the air of a man closing a discussion, "I have given her my promise to look into things, and I must keep it. For that reason, I have not changed my clothes, mother. I have to return to town to-night."

"Oh, Edwin!" cried Claudia, with dismay and with some reproach. "Can't you stay until Monday?"

"Not if I have to keep my promise to Lady Wyke."

"Well, Edwin"--Mrs. Craver stood up to go--"a promise is a promise, and you must not break your word."

After the dinner was finished, the young couple were left alone, and Edwin poured himself out a glass of port wine, which he felt sadly in need of. Claudia said nothing, but watched her lover carefully.

"I hate telling lies, in any case," said Craver, abruptly, "but it is particularly difficult with regard to my own parents. Yet I can do nothing else."

"You can tell the truth to me," suggested Claudia, quietly.

"I intend to. We won't be interrupted for at least fifteen minutes, so we can talk without arousing the suspicions of father and mother."

"What do you mean?"

"Can't you guess after what I have said, Claudia? I lulled my mother's suspicions regarding a possible flirtation of Lady Wyke with me by telling a lie; and I said that it was Christianity to help the poor widow--hang her!"

"Oh!" Claudia started and winced. "So she----"

"Exactly. Her flirtation is more serious than ever. She wants to marry me and asked me to tea so that she might put the case plainly."

"She can't force you to marry her, Edwin?"

"She'll try to; and there is no doubt that she has me on toast."

Claudia rose from her chair, and came round the table to sit beside him. "Do you mean to say that she can implicate my father in the crime, and demand your hand as a promise of silence?"

"No. I mean to say that she can drag me into the matter."

"Impossible!" Claudia stared aghast. "What have you to do with the death?"

"Nothing; and Lady Wyke knows as much. All the same, she can make things very unpleasant for me, and will, unless I give you up and marry her."

Claudia looked puzzled. "But how can she?"

"I'll toll you, dear." He took her hand and drew her to him. "Do you remember the letter which Hall, the postman, delivered that night?"

"Yes. My father told me something about it, although it was not mentioned at the inquest."

"Luckily for me it was not."

"Why? Oh, why?"

"Because I wrote it."

"You. And to Sir Hector?"

"Yes. Wyke wrote asking me to go down and see him at Maranatha privately. I replied, saying that I would, and fixed the time. But, owing to the lateness of the post, I arrived before my letter did. Hall brought it, and left it on the table in the hall. It disappeared, and Lady Wyke told me that Neddy Mellin took it when he came with the washing just after the crime was committed. What his object was, I can't say, although Lady Wyke hinted that he desired to get money. However, the boy read the letter, and knew that I was coming to the house. I can't say if he thought that I had already arrived, and was the man who escaped on the bicycle. Lady Wyke got that letter from Neddy, and made him promise to hold his tongue. She sent him to London so as to get him out of the way. She now holds my letter making the appointment, and threatens to show it to Sergeant Purse if I don't throw you over."

"Oh!" Claudia stared straight in front of her, pale and dismayed. "It is very t............