How we got her down, I scarcely know. I dimly remembered bringing a chair for Godfrey and holding up the body for a dreadful instant while he severed the cord about the neck; but my first clear recollection is of her form upon a bed in the adjoining room, with Godfrey bending over her and Lucy Kingdon standing by with such a face of anguish and despair that, for the first time since I had known her, I found it in my heart to pity her.

She had snatched up some dark garment and thrown it over her night-dress, and she stood looking down at the limp form on the bed, with its hideous, staring face, as though struck to stone. All but her lips—they opened and shut, drinking the air in gasps, and from moment to moment she muttered to herself, "I should have known! I should have known! I should have known!"

At last Godfrey stood erect and turned to her, and his face was very tender.

"It's no use," he said gently. "Perhaps we'd better summon a physician; but he can do nothing."

For a moment she did not seem to understand; then she suddenly threw her black hair out of her eyes and fell on her knees beside the bed. She caught one dead hand to her and fondled it and kissed it; while a great wave of sobbing swept over her.

"I should have known!" she repeated. "I should have known! It was my fault!"

I shuddered. Was it her fault? Had she been false to Marcia Lawrence, and her sister true, and was this the result of that treachery?

At last she controlled herself and stood erect, still quivering, but fairly calm. And some of her old proud, disdainful spirit returned to her.

"This gentleman I know," she said, with a little gesture in my direction, after looking at us a moment. "You," she added to Godfrey, "I do not know."

"My name is Godfrey," he answered. "I'm a friend of Mr. Lester's."

"And what are you doing here?"

Not until then did I think of our strange appearance, shoeless, covered from head to foot with yellow clay, spotted here and there with the blood which had dripped from my wound—astonishing objects, truly, to burst in upon a woman in the middle of the night! Even Godfrey, ready in invention as was ever the wily Ulysses, found himself unable, for the moment, to explain.

"I suppose you were lurking about the house," she went on, her face darkening with sudden anger, "Mr. Lester, I know, has a fondness for doing that. No doubt you're also an amateur detective."

But Godfrey had got back his self-possession.

"Something of the kind," he admitted good-humouredly. "We heard you scream and rushed to your assistance."

"You were very kind!" she sneered; then her face changed. "The door was locked," she said. "I locked it when I came home. How did you get in?" She glanced through the dining-room and saw that the door was still closed.

"It wasn't locked at the time we entered," explained Godfrey coolly. "But that was nearly an hour ago. We were not lurking about the house, Miss Kingdon, when we heard you scream. We were in the cellar."

He was watching her keenly, but she showed no sign of understanding.

"In the cellar?" she repeated, and scanned our soiled clothes. "What were you doing there?"

"We were making some investigations," answered Godfrey composedly. "Your sister discovered us there and took a shot at my friend here," and he pointed to my bleeding hand. "Luckily her aim was bad. Didn't you hear the shot?"

"No," she said, staring from one to the other of us, her anger and insolence quite gone. "I heard no shot. I was asleep in the bed here—the door was closed. Why did she shoot at you? Did she take you for burglars?"

"No," said Godfrey, "I hardly think she took us for burglars."

"And yet you were burglars—she was justified in shooting."

"No doubt of that," Godfrey agreed. "We took the chance, and are not complaining."

"You had no business in the cellar. You have no business here. You're intruders. I don't wish you here. I insist that you leave."

"In a moment," said Godfrey.

"At once!" she cried, flushing darkly again. "Or I'll compel you to," and she made a motion toward the pillow of the bed.

"Oh, no, you won't, Miss Kingdon," protested Godfrey easily. "We won't consent to be shot at any more to-night. We have some business here, and we're going to stay till it's completed. Since you didn't hear the shot, will you kindly tell us what it was awakened you? Please believe that we shall be glad to be of service to you. I fear you're going to stand in need of us before long."

She hesitated, still looking at him; but there was no resisting the stern kindness of his eyes, nor doubting that his warning was in earnest.

"I came home about half an hour ago," she began, "or perhaps it's longer than that——"

"Was your sister expecting you?"

"No; I had intended to stay with Mrs. Lawrence all night. But I found I wasn't needed, and so came home."

"The side door was unlocked?"

"Yes, and that surprised me for a moment."

"Was your sister here at the time?"

"She was in the yard—she came in a moment later."

Godfrey and I exchanged a glance, which Miss Kingdon intercepted.

"Wasn't she in the yard?" she demanded. "What is this mystery?"

"We'll tell you in a moment," said Godfrey; "but please let us hear your story first. You had been, you say, at the Lawrence house?"

"Yes; Mrs. Lawrence has been very nervous since Marcia disappeared. I had been sitting with her until she went to sleep. I met Mr. Lester there earlier in the evening," she added, and cast me a half-mocking glance.

"Yes, he told me," said Godfrey. "He's been having an exciting time to-night. Were you with Mrs. Lawrence last night?"

"Yes; I spent the entire night with her."

Again we exchanged a glance.

"And you say that you expected to stay there again to-night?"

"Yes; but my sister hasn't been well for the past two days, so, as soon as Mrs. Lawrence fell asleep and I found she wouldn't need me, I hurried home. I found Harriet very nervous and excited, and finally persuaded her to take a soothing draught and go to bed. I was so tired that I fell asleep almost at once, and I knew nothing more until I was awakened by what seemed to be a kind of drumming on the head-board."

She stopped, shuddering. We, too, had heard that drumming!

"Yes," said Godfrey. "Your bed, I see, is backed against the closet partition—tight against it. It no doubt makes a kind of sounding-board."

"I suppose that's it. I felt for Harriet and found she wasn't there. That startled me wide awake. Again I heard that drumming, and sprang out of bed, lighted the lamp, and rushed to the closet to find that she had——"

The words ended in a sob, which she tried in vain to repress. Godfrey bent again over the figure on the bed.

"She used what is evidently a curtain cord," he said. "Don't look at her, Miss Kingdon. The death is an easy one, whatever it may appear."

"But why did she do it?" demanded Lucy Kingdon. "Why should she get up in the middle of the night, like that, and hang herself? What impulse was it——"

She stopped suddenly, regarding us fixedly, her face livid, her eyes agleam.

"It was you!" she cried hoarsely, pointing an accusing finger. "She heard you in the cellar—you frightened her—you drove her to it!"

"That's nonsense, Miss Kingdon," broke in Godfrey sternly, "and you know it! How could we drive her to suicide?"

"What was it, then?" she demanded. "I've had enough of this mystery."

Godfrey looked at her keenly.

"You really don't know?"

She shook her head, staring mutely up at him, fascinated by the purpose in his face.

"She was deeply devoted to Miss Lawrence, wasn't she?"

"Yes."

"More devoted than you?"

A sudden flush overspread Lucy Kingdon's face, giving place in a moment to deadly pallor.

"Perhaps," she admitted hoarsely. "But that had nothing to do with it. That was no reason!"

"No," assented Godfrey; "not in itself. But it was at the bottom of it—for it led to something totally unforeseen."

She shook herself together.

"You're speaking in riddles," she said. "It's scarcely fair."

"Pardon me," said Godfrey instantly. "I don't want to be unfair. Come with me and I'll show you the cause of this act. Bring the lamp, Lester."

Together we crossed the kitchen to the door which gave entrance to the cellar stairs. It seemed to me that Miss Kingdon shrank back a little as she saw where we were taking her. But it may have been only my fancy. Certainly she followed promptly enough when Godfrey started down.

At the foot he paused.

"You've not been down here for some days, I take it, Miss Kingdon?" he asked.

"No," she answered, her eyes glancing from right to left. "I very seldom come down here. Harriet always attended to the household affairs. But I see nothing wrong."

"Come this way," and he passed around the angle of the wall into the recess.

"Some one has been digging," she said, as her eyes fell upon the heap of dirt.

"Yes; what was this recess for, Miss Kingdon?"

"We had intended placing a furnace here," she said, "but after the house was finished, we decided that a furnace wasn't needed. Who has been digging here? You?" and her eyes again examined our earth-stained clothes.

"It was your sister dug the hole, and then filled it again, as you see."

"My sister?"

"Yes—she worked at it last night, and again to-night, when she thought herself secure from interruption."

"But why?" she asked, in bewilderment.

"Because she had something to conceal. This hole is a grave, Miss Kingdon. See there."

He flashed a ray from his electric torch full upon the leering face staring up at us.

Lucy Kingdon gazed down at it for a moment with distended eyes. Then, with a deep sigh, she sank backward to the floor.