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 away from. Well, there’s the story, Pearl, dear. And now that you know it, and forgive me, I don’t care for the opinion or criticism of anybody else.”

“And about the murder?”

“Yes—about that. As I told you I have a suspicion—a strong one, that I know who did it. But I shall not mention any name, unless I have to”

“To clear yourself.”

“Yes—and for you. I had partly thought I would let myself be suspected, rather than accuse another. But, now that I have you to consider, I can’t let myself be wrongly accused. I must keep my name fair against the time when I can give it to you. Pearl Barham—I think we’ll leave out the Jane. I never liked that part of it.”

“Call me whatever you like—Tommy,” and little Pearl gave Barham a glance of absolute adoration and love.

“Dear heart,” he said, and taking her into his embrace he covered her sweet face with kisses.

But the future of Andrew Barham was still beset with difficulties.

Hutchins came to him, and told him the attitude of the police. The detective admitted that Lorimer Lane did not think Barham guilty of the murder of his wife, but that unless he could produce some other suspect, the police must soon arrest him.

“Then, I shall have to tell of my own suspicion,” Barham said gravely. “I hoped not to do so—I hoped the case could go out of existence as one of those unsolved mysteries. But, if it must be—it must, and, much as I dislike to do so, I will tell of my suspicions and you can investigate them.”

But before Hutchins left. Lane came in and declared that he had himself discovered another way to look, and