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"You betray yourself by your own words.
You have fallen in love with her, I really believe, Mr. Gregg. If she
knew, she'd be most gratified--or at least, she ought to be."
At which I smiled, preferring that she should adopt that theory in
preference to any other.
She spoke frankly, as a pure honest girl would speak. She was not
jealous, but she nevertheless resented--as women do resent such
things--that I should fall in love with a friend's photograph.
There was a mystery surrounding that torn picture; of that I was
absolutely certain. The remembrance of that memorable evening when I had
dined on board the _Lola_ arose vividly before me. Why had the girl's
portrait been so ruthlessly destroyed and the frame turned with its face
to the wall? There was some reason--some distinct and serious motive in
it. Had Muriel told me the truth, I wondered, or was she merely seeking
to shield the suspected man who was her lover?
Hour by hour the mystery surrounding the Leithcourts became more
inscrutable, more intensely absorbing.


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