It may be that Fessenden was influenced by her beauty or by the exquisite femininity of her dainty contour and apparel, but aside from all this he received a sudden impression that what this girl said did not betoken guilt. He could not have explained it to himself, but he was at the moment convinced that though she knew more than she had yet told, Cicely Dupuy was herself innocent.

“Miss Dupuy,” he said very earnestly, “won’t you look upon me as a friend instead of a foe? I am quite sure you can tell me more than you have told about the Van Norman tragedy. Am I wrong in thinking you are keeping something back?”

“I have nothing to tell,” said Cicely, and the stubborn expression returned to her eyes.

It did not seem a very appropriate place in which to carry on such a personal conversation, but Fessenden thought perhaps the very publicity of the scene might tend to make Miss Dupuy preserve her equanimity better than in a private house. So he went on: