Broughton lifted the limp form of the fainting woman to a couch while Edith Wolcott brought cold water and sprinkled her face. In a few minutes she showed signs of returning consciousness, and leaving Edith to chafe her hands, Broughton drew Lyon out into the hall.

"Is that straight about Vanderburg being dead? Can you prove it?" he asked anxiously.

"Of course. He was killed in a railway accident in Ohio three years ago. I was with him, and I am sure I still have among my old papers the pocket memorandum book which I took from his pocket. It gave me his name, and a few minutes before he died he recovered consciousness enough to confirm it."

"Was this before or after my marriage, do you happen to remember?"

"About six weeks after. As a newspaper man, I knew the circumstances of the case, and therefore was interested in meeting Vanderburg. Of course I knew nothing further."

Broughton walked back and forth with nervous steps.

"We will be married again, at once, and very privately," he said, in an unsteady voice. "That will satisfy her mind. What an amazing tangle it has been. And what luck--what amazing luck--that I should have come across you, the one man who could give that essential information about Vanderburg's death. Without that, where would we be, even with Fullerton dead?--We would not dare to take chances."

He wrung Lyon's hand with a grip that hurt.

Edith Wolcott came to the door. "Will you go in now?" she said. "She is conscious and anxious to see you."

Broughton went in, and Edith Wolcott, with a warning finger on her lip, drew Lyon across the hall into the little sitting room where they had talked earlier in the evening.

"They are happy," she said, with a catch in her voice. "All has come out well for them. But if she stays in Waynscott, will she not be called as a witness? And if she tells that story of Arthur's anger with Fullerton will it not go against him on the trial?"

"It is already known that there was bitterness between the two men," said Lyon thoughtfully. "She would add no new element to the evidence against him by confirming that, though Howell may think it best to whisk her away. But I want to consult him about that, first. And if she is to be secreted, it will involve something more than merely taking a train at the union Station."

"Then that other matter," said Miss Wolcott, hesitatingly. "She saw me in the hall at the Wellington that evening. You know I told you that I went to him with a wild idea that I might make him give up my letters, and that I failed. It was that same evening. I gave up my purpose because I saw him come out with a lady. She was veiled and I did not recognize Mrs. Broughton, but she recognized me. And Bede trapped her into admitting it yesterday. How he got any suspicion of my visit, I can't guess. But he did."

Lyon nodded. This he already knew, but he felt there was much he did not know.

"So if she is called to the witness stand, that will come out." She looked at him with troubled eyes. "You can't imagine how I dread the idea of having my name connected with it in any way. I would rather die! Do you think they will make me tell publicly all that I told you? Isn't there any way for me to escape? When I think of the newspapers,--the gossip,--" She clenched her hands in desperation. "And if it would do Arthur any good, either! But it wouldn't. If anything, it would hurt him, I suppose." She looked at him wistfully.

Lyon considered rapidly and resolved to hazard a question which might prove a very boomerang if the answer was not what he hoped it would be.

"Miss Wolcott, you remember that Lawrence called on you that Sunday before the tragedy?"

She looked startled. "Yes."

"Did he forget his cane here when he left?"

"No."

"You are sure?"

"Oh, yes, quite sure. I should have seen it the next day."

"And you have not seen it at all?"

"No."

"Would you have noticed it, without fail? Your grandfather has quite a collection of canes, I have noticed."

"Yes; but I would have seen Arthur's if he had left it."

"You know it, then?"

"Yes. I remember we spoke of it particularly that evening when he first came. I made some teasing remark about it being dandified to carry a cane, and he retorted that he carried it for protection. He said, I remember, that a gold headed cane was quite as effective as a sandbag, and more elegant. He advised me to carry one of Dandy's canes if I ever had occasion to go out alone in the evening."

"He said that? Just that?"

"Yes. We were just talking nonsense, you know. It was when he first came."

Lyon felt both relieved and disappointed. At least he could assure Lawrence that Miss Wolcott denied all knowledge of the cane. That would be something. Yet if Lawrence was as positive as he seemed to be about having left it here, would her denial have any weight? Lawrence could not doubt his own knowledge of facts. Might it be possible that Mr. Wolcott had carried the cane away somewhere?

As though in answer to his unspoken thought, the old gentleman, in a flapping dressing gown, with a lighted candle in his hand and a highly disapproving look on his face appeared at that moment at the door.

"I thought I heard voices, but I couldn't quite believe m............