“Act three. " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. “You were seen to leave the flat, and your handkerchief was found there. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. The bedding was removed; Mrs. Father— dead. His inclinations prompted him most decidedly to take the vacant chair. John knew better. Capes had the gift of easy, unaffected writing, coupled with very clear and logical thinking, and to follow his written thought gave her the sensation of cutting things with a perfectly new, perfectly sharp knife.
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