After a very few minutes Miss Phyllis sauntered into the room and gave her hand to the man who rose at her entrance.  She was simply but expensively gowned.  Her smile was warm for Kirby.  It told him, with a touch of shy reluctance, that he was the one man in the world she would rather meet just now.  He did not know that it would have carried the same message to any one of half a dozen men.

“I’m so glad you came to see me,” she said, just as though she were in the habit of receiving young men at eleven in the morning.  “Of course I want to know you better.  James thinks so much of you.”

“And Jack,” added Lane, smilingly.

“Oh, yes.  Jack, too,” she said, and laughed outright when their eyes met.

“I’m sure Jack’s very fond of me.  He can’t help showing it occasionally.”

“Jack’s—­impulsive,” she explained.  “But he’s amenable to influence.”

“Of the right sort.  I’m sure he would be.”

He found himself the object of a piquant, amused scrutiny under her long lashes.  It came to him that this Paris-gowned, long-limbed young sylph was more than willing to let him become intrigued by her charms.  But Kirby Lane had not called so early in the day to fall in love.

“I came to see you, Miss Harriman, about the case,” he said.  “My good name is involved.  I must clear it.  I want you to help me.”

He saw a pulse of excitement flutter in her throat.  It seemed to him that her eyes grew darker, as though some shadow of dread had fallen over them.  The provocative smile vanished.

“How can I help you?” she asked.

“If you would answer a few questions—­”

“What questions?” All the softness had gone from her voice.  It had become tense and sharp.

“Personal ones.  About you and my uncle.  You were engaged to him, were you not?”

“Yes.”

“There wasn’t any quarrel between you recently, was there?”

A flash of apprehension filled her eyes.  Then, resolutely, she banished fear and called to her aid hauteur.

“There was not, though I quite fail to see how this can concern you, Mr. Lane.”

“I don’t want to distress you,” he said gently, “Just now that question must seem to you a brutal one.  Believe me, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her eyes softened, grew wistful and appealing.  “I’m sure you don’t.  You couldn’t.  It’s all so—­so dreadful to think about.”  There was a little catch in her throat as the voice broke.  “Let’s talk of something more cheerful.  I want to forget it all.”

“I’m sure you do.  We all want to do that.  The surest way to get it out of our minds is to solve the mystery and find out who is guilty.  That’s why I want you to tell me a few things to clear up my mind.”

“But I don’t know anything about it—­nothing at all.  Why should you come to me?”

“When did you last see my uncle alive?”