your muscle?"

"It is all very mysterious," he declared, "but do you know I believe
Mr. Weatherley is afraid. He shook like a leaf when I told him of
the murder of Rosario. I believe he thinks that there was some sort
of blackmailing plot and he is afraid that something of the kind
might happen to him. My instructions are never to leave his office,
especially if he is visited by any strangers."

"It sounds absurd," she remarked. "I should have thought that of all
the commonplace, unimaginative people you have ever described to me,
Mr. Weatherley was supreme."

"And I," Arnold agreed. "And so, in a way, he is. It is his
marriage which seems to have transformed him--I feel sure of that.
He is mixing now with people whose manners and ways of thinking are
entirely strange to him. He has had the world he knew of kicked from
beneath his feet, and is hanging on instead to the fringe of
another, of which he knows very little."

Ruth was silent. All the time Arnold was conscious that she was
watching him. He turned his head. Her mouth was once more set and
strained, a delicate streak of scarlet upon the pallor of her face,
but from the fierce questioning of her eyes there was no escape.

"What is it you want to know that I have not told you, Ruth?" he
asked.

"Tell me what happened to you last night!"