The moment Audrey became certain of the name of the person accused by her lover, she recalled what Mrs. Mellop had said about Sir Joseph. As the thought came into her mind she turned very white, and leaning back in the chair closed her eyes, feeling deadly sick. It really seemed as though Ralph had spoken the truth, and that her father, of all people, was guilty. No wonder the diamonds had not been stolen. Sir Joseph had not crept into the Pink Shop to steal jewels, but to rid himself of an undesirable¹ wife. A nervous shiver shook the girl from head to foot, and she almost lost consciousness. But the touch of a cold glass rim² on her lips made her open her eyes, and she saw that Shawe was offering her some wine.  
"Drink this, darling, and you will feel better," he said anxiously.
 
This time Audrey did not refuse, as she felt that she needed to be sustained at the moment. Without a word she drank half the wine, and then motioned Ralph to remove the glass. In a minute or so the colour came back to her face, and she sat up with renewed strength.
 
"I am all right now," she declared firmly. "Ralph, sit down and explain."
 
"What is there to explain?" said Shawe, replacing the wine-glass on the table and resuming his former seat. "You know that I suspect Sir Joseph, and why I suspect him."
 
"And for this reason you wrote the anonymous³ letter?"
 
"Yes," said the barrister, frankly⁴. "After Perry Toat told me what Parizade had said, and after what you mentioned about your father going out at night--ostensibly to help the poor--I suspected him. You mentioned your father's prowling before our Kensington Gardens conversation. I knew if I told you face to face that you would either be indignant with me or you would go straight to your father and make trouble. It was my desire to keep my suspicions quiet, since they are difficult to verify. For this reason I wrote you anonymously⁵, and advised you to stop the search. I knew what grief it would cause you."
 
Audrey leant back and looked at her lover. "I have no reason to love my father, as you know," she said dully. "He has always been unkind to me, and he was unkind to my poor mother; but I can't think that he killed her."
 
"The evidence is slight, I admit," replied Ralph, gravely; "and perhaps it is evidence that would not stand in a court of law. All the same, to my mind, it certainly lays Sir Joseph open to suspicion."
 
"Parizade might have mistaken the smell?"
 
"No. Being blind, she has particularly keen olfactory⁶ nerves--her sense of smell is almost as highly developed as that of a dog. And the perfume of Harris tweed--if it can be called a perfume--that peaty smell, I mean--is so strong and so characteristic that even an ordinary person could guess that,--"
 
"Other people besides my father wear Harris tweed suits," interrupted Audrey, trying to find excuses.
 
"Quite so. Ladies wear tailor-made dresses of it and men wear suits. But as a rule that particular kind of cloth is mostly worn by those who shoot, and is worn as a rule in the country. It is rarely that one sees it in London--at all events amongst people of your father's class."
 
"Yes," admitted Audrey, "father is always particular about his dress. He goes to the City in a frock-coat and a silk hat, and invariably dresses for dinner. In fact, he does what most people in Society do in the way of dress. But remember that I told you how he went on the prowl."
 
"Which people in Society do not do, as a rule," said Ralph. "Quite so, my dear. But why I suspect your father is that he has quite a craze for Harris tweed, and once or twice told me that for ordinary suits he wears no other cloth. Besides, he certainly wants to marry Miss Pearl, and--"
 
"Yes, yes, yes! I quite understand, and I admit that he might have been lurking⁷ in the passage on that night. Certainly he was in Walpole Lane during the evening."
 
"How do you know?" demanded Shawe, rather startled.
 
"Mrs. Mellop saw him. He was on the hither side of the lane when I came to ask if my mother intended to remain for the night."
 
"Could Mrs. Mellop have been mistaken?"
 
"I don't think so, unfortunately," said Audrey, with a mournful look. "She knew him so well, and also she saw him in his tweed suit early in the evening when she came to take me to the theatre."
 
"I thought you told me that he was not at dinner, and went out very early?"
 
"So he did," said the girl, quickly; "but Mrs. Mellop came early also, and she passed him in the hall when he was going out. He did not stay to dinner. It was six o'clock when he went out--about the time Mrs. Mellop arrived. She mentioned the fact to me."
 
"And when did she say that she saw Sir Joseph in the lane?"
 
"To-day. That was one reason why I wished to see you. Mrs. Mellop has been trying hard to get my father to marry her. Yesterday she learnt from his own lips that he intended to marry Rosy⁸ Pearl, and lost her temper. My father asked her to leave, and she returned to her own home this afternoon. At our last interview she hinted that she believed my father had something to do with the death of my mother, and stated that she had seen him in the lane."
 
"Has she any other grounds upon which to base such a statement?"
 
"I don't think so. And I don't believe she believes what she says. It is simply the petty spite of a woman who has been disappointed. She can do no harm to my father in any way."
 
"Singly, I don't think she can," assented¹⁰ the barrister, thoughtfully; "but if Parizade's evidence became public property there would be trouble if it were taken in conjunction with what Mrs. Mellop saw."
 
"I don't think that Perry Toat suspects my father," said Audrey, after a lengthy¹¹ pause; "at least, she did not say that she did. She told me to ask you for an explanation, as she declared that you seemed disturbed by Parizade's evidence."
 
"And with good reason," said the barrister. "No one but you and I know how important that evidence is, seeing that we are aware of your father's liking¹² for Harris tweed."
 
"I can't think that he is guilty, all the same," said Audrey, tearfully.
 
Shawe walked up and down the room thoughtfully. "Well," he said finally, "I have kept my suspicions from you as long as I could; but now that you know, Audrey, I think you should question your father."
 
"Oh!"--she shrank back in her chair--"I dare not."
 
"If you don't Perry Toat may get to know what we have discovered, and as she is anxious to gain the reward she will certainly go to Sir Joseph herself."
 
Audrey shivered. "Oh, how angry he would be!"
 
"If he is innocent he certainly would show Miss Toat no mercy; on the other hand, if he is guilty, he would make terms."
 
"I can't think that he is guilty," cried the girl, in despair. "With all his faults, he surely would not strangle his own wife." She rose to her feet.
 
"It seems incredible, but--look at the evidence. Audrey, you must speak to your father or let me speak. But tell me one thing"--he took her in his arms--"have you forgiven me for my strange conduct, for I know that it seemed strange in your dear eyes?"
 
"Yes. I know why you acted as you did. It was to save me from grief. And if my father is guilty," said the girl, shivering, "it certainly will be the greatest grief of my life, as you said in the letter. How can I marry you should my father turn out to be a murderer?"
 
"My darling"--Ralph held her to his heart--"I don't visit the sins of the father on the child. If he murdered a dozen women I should still make you my wife; and I wish you would leave the whole of this horrible affair alone and marry me at once."
 
"Unless my father can exonerate¹³ himself I shall have to leave it alone. I dare not go on with a matter which involves his honour."
 
"And more than that. It involves his liberty and life, and--hush!"
 
He stopped short to listen, and Audrey listened also. It seemed for the moment, so still were they, that they had been changed into stone. &............