SLOWLY the meaning of Winthrop’s words dawned on the four men.

“It’s false! false as hell!” thundered Douglas. He stepped forward and seized Winthrop in a grip of iron and shook him as a dog would shake a rat; then, before the others could intervene, threw the struggling man on the floor. “Bah! you’re not worth killing.”

Whimpering with rage and weakness, Winthrop caught hold of the table and dragged himself upright, and stood swaying on his feet.

“It’s true, it’s true!” he reiterated. “Look at her,”—pointing a shaking finger to where Eleanor stood aghast, watching the scene. Her hand was on the doorknob and she seemed poised for instant flight. A curious smile twisted her pale lips as the men turned and faced her.

“He doesn’t seem to have recovered from delirium tremens,” she remarked slowly.

“It may be, Miss Thornton,”—the Secretary of State spoke with grave deliberation,—“but it is a serious charge which he is making, and I think it had better be investigated now.” Eleanor winced visibly, then, controlling herself, advanced further into the room.

“I am at your service,” she said with sudden hauteur, “but as I have an important engagement later I trust you will be brief.”

“Sit by me here, Eleanor.” Colonel Thornton, who had listened to Winthrop’s charges in stupefied silence, pulled forward an armchair. “Mr. Secretary, will you occupy the desk chair, and you,” turning to Winthrop, who cowered back as he caught the smoldering wrath in the older man’s eyes, “sit over there,” pointing to a chair some distance away.

Brett, seeing that Winthrop was too exhausted to move without assistance, piloted him to the chair indicated by Thornton, and, getting another chair, placed himself by Winthrop’s side. Douglas, at a sign from the Secretary, sat down at the further end of the table and handed the statesman some paper and ink.

“Now, Mr. Winthrop,” began the Secretary, “if you are more composed, kindly answer my questions. Why have you waited all this time before mentioning that you think Miss Thornton guilty of Senator Carew’s murder?”

“Because I’ve been drugged, so that I couldn’t give evidence. I tried twice to get a message to Brett, but Annette said she couldn’t reach him.” Winthrop spoke with labored effort.

“Annette!” chorused Colonel Thornton, Brett, and Douglas, while the Secretary and Eleanor looked their surprise.

“Yes, Annette,” peevishly, “she used to come in occasionally to give me water when those devilish nurses were neglecting me. She told me that Brett was seldom at the house, and that she never had an opportunity to speak to him alone.”

“The monumental liar——” Brett checked himself. “Never mind that now, Mr. Winthrop, go on with your story.”

“She told me how Miss Thornton used to steal in and drug me, and asked me why she did it.”

“Great Heavens!” Eleanor’s exclamation was followed by a half-strangled laugh which ended in a sob. “What a viper!”

“You were not there last night,” sputtered Winthrop vindictively, “and therefore I didn’t get my usual dose, so I can tell what I know to-day.” A triumphant leer distorted his features.

“Suppose you continue your story without making comments,” directed the Secretary sternly.

Winthrop nodded sullenly, then began: “You recollect that I spent Monday night at the Alibi Club, Brett?”

“Yes.”

“Well, when I left there I motored up Nineteenth Street, instead of taking the more direct way home. I thought I would turn into Massachusetts Avenue at Dupont circle, where there was less danger of running into electric cars, for the rain was falling in such torrents that I could hardly see through my wind-shield.

“When opposite the Owen residence I ran into a lot of waiting carriages and motors, and had to slow down. In fact, I went so slowly that by the time I was nearly opposite Miss Thornton’s residence I stalled my engine and had to get out in all the wet and crank up,” he paused dramatically. “You can imagine my surprise when I saw Miss Thornton come down under the awning which led to her front door and stand at the curb, looking up and down the street.”

“How do you know it was Miss Thornton?” broke in Douglas harshly.

“There was a street lamp by the side of the awning and the light fell full on her; besides, I recognized the scarlet cloak she was wearing. I have seen it many times.”

“What did my niece do, besides standing still and looking up and down the street?” demanded Colonel Thornton scornfully.

“She ran out into the middle of the street and down where a carriage was drawn up at the curb, opened the door, stood there talking, apparently, for a few minutes, then shut the door and bolted back to the awning, and I presume entered her house, as I saw no more of her.”

“What did you do next?” inquired Douglas, with peculiar emphasis.

Winthrop flushed at his tone. “I had curiosity enough to step back and see that it was Senator Carew’s landau, the last of a long queue of vehicles, at which she had stopped; then I went on about my business.”

“Do you mean to say that you did not investigate further?” asked the Secretary, leaning forward the better to scan Winthrop’s face.

“No. I knew enough never to interfere with Senator Carew’s love affairs!” His sneer was intolerable.

“By God!” Colonel Thornton sprang to his feet and advanced on Winthrop, but Brett stepped between the two men.

“Have a little patience, Colonel,” he said, pushing the irate man toward his seat; “then you can settle with Mr. Winthrop.”

“Do you think I’m going to sit here and listen to aspersions on my niece’s character?” he shouted. “Let me get my hands on that scoundrel!”

“Wait, Uncle Dana,”—Eleanor leaned forward and placed her hand on his arm,—“let him finish; then I will speak,” and her lips closed ominously.

“That is excellent advice,” agreed the Secretary; “resume your seat, Colonel Thornton.” His tone of command was not to be denied, and Thornton dropped back in his chair. “Now, Mr. Winthrop, explain your last remark.”

“Senator Carew told me on Monday afternoon that he expected to marry Miss Thornton, and that he intended to spend the evening with her.”

Douglas leaned forward and gazed earnestly at Eleanor, but she refused to meet his look, and with a troubled expression he turned his attention to Winthrop, who was again speaking.

“I told Senator Carew that I had heard a member of one of the embassies here declare that Miss Thornton was an international spy.”

“And what did he say to that statement?”

“He said that he would look into the matter.”

“When did this conversation take place?”

“On Monday afternoon.”

“And is that all you have to go upon for such an accusation?” inquired Brett scornfully.

Douglas was gazing moodily ahead of him. A memory of Paris, of Eleanor’s extraordinary behavior there, of the whispers which followed her about, harassed him. Had his faith been misplaced? No, a thousand times no. He would pin all hope of future happiness on her innocence and purity of soul. He rose suddenly and stepped behind her chair, and laid his hand encouragingly on her shoulder. She looked up, startled, then, seeing him, her lips parted in a smile, and her hand stole up to meet his. His firm clasp gave her courage to face the situation, for it told her of his unshaken confidence and love.

Winthrop glowered at them when he saw the tableau, and his eyes gleamed wickedly. “It is very obvious,” he said, “that Senator Carew found my statement was true, and charged her with being a spy; then left her house. Exposure meant Miss Thornton’s ruin; even her influential relatives,”—he glanced meaningly at Thornton,—“could not intervene to save her, so she took the law into her own hands, picked up the letter file, stole out of the house, opened the carriage door, engaged the Senator in conversation—and stabbed him.”

A strained silence followed, which the Secretary was the first to break. He turned directly to Eleanor.

“You called to see Secretary Wyndham at the Navy Department on Wednesday morning, did you not, Miss Thornton?”

Douglas’ hand tightened involuntarily, but Eleanor showed no sign of agitation as she answered, “Yes, Mr. Secretary, I did.”

“Have you anything further to say, Mr. Winthrop?”

“Not now, Mr. Secretary.”

“Then let me suggest,” exclaimed Thornton, “that Mr. Winthrop, in trying to implicate my niece in a dastardly crime, has but established his own guilt.”

“How so?” The question shot from Winthrop’s clenched teeth.

“We all know from the testimony of reputable servants that Senator Carew and you had quarreled,” continued Thornton. “We know your habits are none of the best; we know that you have suddenly become possessed of large sums of money——”

Winthrop moistened his dry lips. “I deny it,” he exclaimed.

Thornton paid no attention to the interruption. “You alone knew where Senator Carew was spending the evening, and you went there and laid in wait for him, and now, you despicable cur, you are trying to lay the blame on an innocent girl.”

Winthrop rose, goaded by the scornful looks of the others. “I may have had the motive and the opportunity to kill Senator Carew,” he admitted sullenly, “but I did not have—the weapon. The criminal sits there,”—he pointed at Eleanor;—“I am absolutely positive of her guilt, for the letter file used to kill the Senator belonged to a silver desk set given her by Miss Cynthia Carew.”

Thornton frowned and turned a troubled countenance toward Eleanor, who nodded reassuringly as she rose to her feet, stepped back to Douglas’ side, and, leaning on the back of the chair she had just vacated, addressed the Secretary.

“I am a young girl, Mr. Secretary,” she began, “and, living alone as I do, I have been forced on numerous occasions to use my own judgment. It would have been better, perhaps, had I spoken of certain events before this, but I was so alarmed by the position in which I found myself placed that I foolishly held my tongue. I had hoped that certain facts would not become public. Those facts Mr. Winthrop has maliciously distorted. I have been guilty of a blunder, not a crime.”

“I would be most happy to believe you, Miss Thornton,” said the Secretary gravely; “but to probe this matter to the bottom I must ask certain questions.”

“Which I will gladly answer.”

“Did Senator Carew call on you on Monday night?”

“He did, reaching my house about nine-thirty, just before the rain commenced.”

“Did anyone else know that he was there?”

“Only my Japanese butler, Fugi, who admitted him. My cousin, Mrs. Truxton, who is spending the winter with me, had gone to bed immediately after dinner.”

“Was Annette in the house?” asked Brett quickly.

“No, it was her evening out. She returned shortly after the Senator left.”

“At what hour did he go?” questioned the Secretary.

“About half-past twelve o’clock.”

“Wasn’t that rather an unusual hour for him to stay?”

Eleanor colored warmly. “It was most unusual,” she admitted. “But the pouring rain was responsible for that. He telephoned for a herdic cab or a taxi, but they were all engaged, and he waited, hoping that one would eventually be sent to my house.”

“Mr. Winthrop spoke of an awning at your door, Miss Thornton,” again broke in Brett. “I have passed your house a number of times and have never seen one.”

“I had a large tea on Monday afternoon, and had the awning put up for that occasion, as the weather was threatening and my house stands some distance from the curb. The awning was removed early the next morning.”

“It is not so very far from your house to the Senator’s residence,” mused the Secretary. “I should have thought, considering the lateness of the hour, that he would have walked home.”

“But he was not going home, Mr. Secretary. He told me that he was going to drive to your house, as he had to see you immediately on your return that night.”

“Indeed!” The Secretary was bending forward in his eagerness. “Did the Senator state what he wished to see me about?”

“Only in a general way. He said that he had that afternoon discovered proof of a gigantic plot against the United States; that the secrets of the Government were being betrayed; and that he must give you the names of the arch traitor and his confederate. He called up your house by telephone earlier in the afternoon, and found that you were expected home on the eleven o’clock train.”

“I had intended to take it, but was detained at the last moment by pressing business and did not reach Washington until the following night,” explained the Secretary. “If he couldn’t get a cab, why did he not call up his own house and send for his carriage earlier in the evening?”

“He tried to, Mr. Secretary, but his telephone was out of order, and no one answered the stable call.”

“How, then, did he get his own carriage?”

“My drawing-room windows look out on Nineteenth Street, and the Senator, in one of his numerous trips to discover if the rain was letting up, saw his carriage standing in front of my door. He recognized the horses and Hamilton by the light from the lamp-post under which they stood, waiting for the long queue of carriages ahead to move up the street. The Senator instantly decided to enter his carriage, wait for Cynthia, and then drive to your house, Mr. Secretary.”

“So that’s how he got into the carriage without getting wet,” cried Brett; “the awning protected him. I suppose he just popped into his carriage and said nothing to Hamilton, as he intended to wait for his niece, and Hamilton was too befuddled with drink and the storm to notice the opening and closing of the door. Did you watch the Senator leave the house?”

Eleanor shook her head. “No,” she said.

“Miss Thornton,”—the Secretary bent forward impressively,—“were you engaged to Senator Carew?”

Eleanor’s color rose, but she faced the keen eyes watching her unflinchingly. “No, Mr. Secretary; the Senator did me the honor to ask me to marry him on Monday night, but I refused.”

“Then you deny running out after his carriage, which Mr. Winthrop declares you did?”

“No, sir, I do not deny it. Mr. Winthrop is quite right.” She paused, and the men looked at her expectantly. “I have a quest in life—not the one attributed to me by this gentleman,”—waving her hand scornfully toward Winthrop, who was listening to her statement with an incredulous smile distorting his features,—“but an honorable legacy which my dear mother left me to execute.

“On bidding me a hasty good night, Senator Carew, whether in jest or earnest, told me that, if I would marry him, he would assist me to bring my mission to a successful conclusion.”

“Would you mind stating what this quest is?” asked the Secretary.

Eleanor hesitated. “It is a family matter, and I would rather not go into it just now. But—if necessary—I promise to explain later.”

The Secretary did not press the point. “Continue your story, Miss Thornton.”

“About five minutes or more after the Senator left I came to the conclusion that my duty”—she glanced appealingly at Douglas—“compelled me to marry him. On an impulse, I picked up my cloak, which was hanging on the hall rack, opened the front door, and ran down to the curb.

“The Carew landau is easily recognized, and after peering up and down the street I saw that it had moved up several doors. Without stopping to think or consider the consequences, I ran down the street to the carriage and opened the door——” She stopped, breathless.

“Go on, go on,” urged Douglas.

“I opened the door,” she repeated, “and, as God is my witness, I found Senator Carew sitting there—dead.”