The surprising discovery that the bullet was of silver, elevated the crime from the common-place to the romantic. That an old-fashioned weapon should have been used in these days when firearms have reached such a pitch of perfection, was remarkable enough, but that the assassin should have reverted to the superstitions of the Middle Ages for his missile, was almost beyond belief. In spite of her quick brain, Bess could not come to any decision. Failing a discussion with Dr. Jim she resolved to leave the vexed question at rest.

All the same she did not pause in her detective work. Having followed up one clue, until it ended--for the time being--in nothing, she hunted about for another. So far she had made two discoveries. The pistol which Joyce declared he had received from Don Manuel was certainly the weapon with which the murder had been committed; and the bullet was of silver. But this knowledge resulted in nothing. Certainly it cast a strong suspicion on the Mexican; but that part of the puzzle Bess felt she could safely leave to Herrick. So far as her particular business was concerned she could do no more, until she heard her colleague's report. Pending this, she began to work in a different direction. It occurred to her that she had never questioned Sidney about his doings in the Pine wood on the night of the murder. Possibly he might be able to supply some clue to the mystery.

"He was in the habit of watching the tower," said Bess to herself, "he said as much on that day when we had the picnic. I wonder if he saw anything suspicious on that night; then he might have seen that horrid little Joyce, or perhaps Frisco. I'll see what he knows."

Sidney was not an easy person to question. His fantasies of thought, had been laughed at so frequently, the truth of his statements so often denied, that he had grown reticent. What he saw, what he heard, he kept to himself, and not even his own family could get him to explain himself on occasions when they really desired information. The boy mooned about in a dreamy state of mind, saying little beyond the merest common places and for the most part lived in that world of fantasy which was anathema-maranatha to the people around him. He was like a wild animal, shy, timid, and intensely suspicious.

Bess thought that he might be more open with her, when he was--so to speak--in his native wilds. She therefore watched her opportunity, and followed him to one of his favourite haunts in the pine wood, where it fringed the moor. Here one afternoon, she found him seated in a secluded glade beside one of those remarkable circles, which the country people call fairy rings. So steadily was he gazing at this in the half-light which filtered through the overhead boughs, that he did not notice her approach. To be sure she trod softly and used the same precaution as she would have done when approaching the haunt of some timid animal.

Sidney had always been a puzzle to everyone, but Bess understood him better than most people. Besides she had discussed him frequently with Santiago, and was inclined to take the Mexican's view of the boy's peculiarities. Remembering the oft-quoted saying of Hamlet. Bess was less sceptical than those around her. She could' not see why Sidney should not possess the power of seeing,--what in the generally accepted sense is called the unseen. Considering what the lad had foretold with regard to the death of Mrs. Marsh and the accident to her step-son, it was impossible to say that Sidney was either a fool or a madman. There was some reason for his fantasies--so-called: and Bess regarded him with a certain amount of awe. She could not understand him; but she granted that he was a rare spirit, far removed from the common-place mortal.

"Well Thomas the Rhymer," said Bess gaily, when her shadow fell on the fairy-ring, "are you looking for the Queen of Elf-land?"

It was characteristic of Sidney that he was never taken by surprise. At the sound of her voice he neither started nor expressed any anger. All he did was to raise his serious eyes to her face, and observe quietly, "I knew you were coming, Bess dear."

She threw herself down beside him and nodded towards the fairy-ring. "Did they tell you?" she asked in low tone, and in all good faith.

"No, Bess. This is not the time for the little people to be abroad. I was only looking at their dancing-ground."

"Have you seen them here?"

"Often," replied Sidney with conviction, "small naked folk who dance and sing and play on queer instruments. They know that I see them; but they are not angry."

"I believe you are a fairy yourself Sidney."

"No. I have a soul--what you call a soul--and the fairies have none. They are only the creatures who attend to the works of Nature; her servants. I can see them because--" here Sidney broke off, "it is no use my telling you Bess, you would not understand."

Bess quite admitted this. She could not understand. All the same she did not tell her brother that he was a fool as many people would have done. She simply nodded, and passed the subject by. Her errand was to find out what Sidney had seen in the actual world. After the manner of her sex she approached the matter by a side-issue. "Sidney dear," said she, "do you know that Mr. Joyce has gone away to London?"

"No! I did not," replied Sidney gravely, "but I am very glad he has gone. A bad man Bess, and he would have done you harm."

"How? What do you mean." Sidney passed his hand across his face. "I cannot explain," he said in a troubled voice, "you see Bess, bad people carry about with them a bad atmosphere. That Mexican was very wicked; Joyce not so bad. Both of them made me feel quite ill. Did you never see how I refused to sit beside them? Well, that was because they gave me such pain. Not physical pain but a kind of uncomfortable feeling, which I can't put into words."

"In what an old-fashioned way you talk Sidney," said Bess puzzled, "one would think you were a hundred."

"I know more than I say. Corn did not teach me everything I know!

"Tell me Sidney. Do you like Mr. Corn?"

"I do--in a way. He is not bad, but he is weak. With good people he is good, with bad people he is bad. I am glad that Don Manuel has gone to Town. He was doing Mr. Corn a lot of harm. But if I told you what I know of these things you would only laugh at me."

"No, I would not Sidney," said his sister earnestly, "I am sure that you are so sensitive that you feel these influences you talk about."

"Sensitive," echoed Sidney, "yes! I suppose that is what you would call it. You have come here to ask me a question?" he said abruptly.

"How do you know that?" she demanded, then seeing him shrug his thin shoulders, she admitted the truth of what he said. "I want to ask you who you saw in the Pine wood on the night when Colonel Carr was killed?"

Sidney thought for a moment, then raised his eyes towards the gap in the trees formerly blocked by the tower. "I saw a lot of red mist about the tower," he said, "that was anger. I saw too--" he shook his head impatiently. "It is not these things you wish to know Bess?"

"I want to know who killed Colonel Carr?"

"I can't tell you Bess. If I knew I should tell. But I don't. On that night I came here, looking for things---" said Sidney with a side-glance to see if she were laughing, "and although I felt that there was a bad influence about the house, I never went near it. I kept away and wandered on to the moor. That is why you missed me, when you came to look for me. I did not mind the rain. But I saw your lantern, and thought you would be anxious, so I returned home. Then you came back yourself."

"Yes. That is all true. But tell me Sidney, did you see Mr. Joyce in the wood or on the moor?"

"No. I did not see him. Stephen was the only person I saw."

Bess started violently. "Stephen," she said, "surely you must be mistaken."

"No," replied the boy indifferently, "why should I be mistaken? You know I can see in the dark like a cat. Before I saw your lantern, I had seen Stephen on the lawn looking at the tower. I do not know what time it was, so don't ask me. You are always so particular about time," said Sidney peevishly, "as though it mattered."

Bess reflected. It was strange that Stephen should have been in the vicinity of the house on that night and yet have escaped her notice. But she remembered that being intent upon looking for her brother that she had not even seen Joyce, although he was lurking in the bushes at her elbow. True she had caught a glimpse of Frisco. But that was when she consciously looked at the door. It was possible that Sidney might have come across Stephen. "Did you speak to him?" she asked.

"No. Why should I have spoken to him?"

"Did he go into the house?"

"Not that I saw Bess. He was looking up at the tower, standing on the lawn by the trees. I went away to the other side of the wood, and out on to the moor. That is all I know."

"But Sidney, did you see Frisco crossing the moor?"

"I did not. When I saw your lantern I went home. I wish you would stop asking me questions," he cried irritably, "you make my head ache."

After this speech, he relapsed into one of his silent fits, and Bess could not get him to speak. Knowing from experience that Sidney was hopeless when in this mood, she left him still by the fairy ring, and took her way back to Biffstead. The house was empty, as Ida had gone to Beorminster to see Flo, and Frank was attending to the farm.

Bess sat down and wondered what could be the meaning of Stephen's presence at "The Pines" on that night. She knew that he had come over from Beorminster to escort his mother home. But then Mrs. Marsh had been with Mr. Corn the whole evening, and there was no reason why Stephen should have gone out of his way to visit "The Pines." It was in the afternoon that Mrs. Marsh had seen the Colonel, and Stephen must have known that she would not be at the great house after nine o'clock. This, Bess, calculating by her own movements, was the hour at which Sidney had seen him. He was looking up at the tower too, so Sidney said. "But he can't have had anything to do with it," she thought restlessly, "he disliked the Colonel, but he didn't--no, I won't even think of it! Such a thing if true, would kill Ida. Yet I must find out from Stephen himself why he was in the wood on that night."

She reflected. At this hour Stephen would be alone. Why should she not go over and see him. In one way or another she could tell him about the pistol and the silver bullet and see from the expression of his face if he knew anything about either. It was incredible that Stephen should have fired the shot. He was the Colonel's heir; but even to gain the money he certainly was too good a man to commit a crime. Yet if what Sidney said was true, Stephen had been on the lawn about the time Colonel Carr was shot. He must know something about the matter.

"I'll see him," said Bess putting on her hat again. "I shall not be able to sleep a wink until I know what he has to say."

In another half hour she was in the library where Stephen was established on the sofa. He looked thin, and rather worried, but his face brightened when he saw her. "This is good of you Bess," he said stretching out his hand, "I am all alone; Herrick is in Town; Ida at Beorminster. Not a soul to speak to. Draw that chair close to the fire. Shall I ring for tea?"

"It is too early yet," she said reassured by this bright talk. It was incredible that a man who spoke so lightly should have a black crime on his soul. "I just want to chatter for a bit; I am so tired of my own company."

"So am I. Well you talk about Jim, and I'll discourse about Ida. We shall be quite happy. By the way, when will Ida be back?"

"About dinner time. She will come over and see you afterwards."

"I wish she would come to dinner here," said Stephen, "you also and Frank and Sidney. I miss Jim horribly, and it is no fun eating a long solemn meal alone. Upon my word Bess, I sometimes long for the days when Petronella's macaroni could be eaten hurriedly, and without this formality. I would rather have a book than a footman about the table."

"What a mixed way of talk............