“If only he would break his absurd silence,” she said suddenly.  “This ridiculous suspicion which still seems to be entertained in some quarters would be removed of course; but his every act since the night of the tragedy has only intensified it.”

She sat facing me on the settee, her hands locked in her lap, and: 

“Do you refer to any new act of his,” I asked, “with which I am not at present acquainted?”

She nodded slowly.

“Yes,” she said; “but I can only tell you in confidence, for it is something which Inspector Gatton does not know.”

“Please tell me,” I urged; “for you are aware that I have no other object but the clearing of Coverly in the eyes of the police and the public.”

“Well,” she continued, with hesitation, “last night he lodged with me a copy of a declaration which he assured me cleared him entirely.  But he imposed an extraordinary condition.”

“What was that?” I asked with interest.

“It was only to be used in the event of the worst happening!” she said.

“What do you mean?  In the event of his being put on trial for murder?”

Isobel nodded.

“I suppose so,” she said sadly; “it seems madness, doesn’t it?”

“Absolute madness!” I agreed.  “If he is in a position to establish an alibi why not do it now and be done with the whole unsavory business?”

“That is exactly what I pointed out to him, but he was adamant on the matter and became dreadfully irritable and excited.  I did not dare to press the point, so of course—­” She shrugged her shoulders resignedly.

Was it a selfish joy, I wonder, which possessed me as I noted the restrained impatience with which Isobel spoke of Coverly?  I suppose it was, and perhaps it was even indefensible; yet I record it, desiring to be perfectly honest with myself and with others.  Nevertheless, in the near future I was to regret the sentiments which at that moment I entertained towards Coverly.  But how was I to know in my poor human blindness that his innocence would soon be established in the eyes of the world by other means than the publication of the statement which he had so strangely placed with Isobel?

Since, excepting the telegram, no communication had reached me from Gatton, I could only assume that he had discovered nothing in the ruins of the Bell House of sufficient importance to justify a report.  Doubtless he had reported to New Scotland Yard, but that his discoveries, if any, had not resulted in an arrest, was painfully evident.

My latest contribution to the Planet had been in the nature of a discursive essay rather than an informative article, although I had enlivened it with some account of my experiences at Upper Crossleys.  But at the moment that I had set pen to paper I had realized the difficulty of expressing, within the scope of a newspaper contribution, the peculiar conditions which ruled in that oddly deserted village.  And at Gatton’s request I had been most guarded in my treatment of the two abortive attempts made upon my own life by the Eurasian doctor.