"I don't know. I'm waiting for you to tell me."
Edith clasped her hands together with a restless movement, and walked up and down the room hastily. Suddenly, as though making up her mind to the inevitable, she stopped before the detective.
"Mr. Gebb," she said, clearly and distinctly, "I have no reason to conceal anything in my life. I am engaged to a gentleman named Arthur Ferris, whose occupation is that of an artist. He has nothing to do with the murder of Miss Gilmar--that I swear."
"There is no need to swear," said Gebb, wondering at her vehemence; "but why did you faint when I asked you about him?"
"I thought--I thought you might suspect him," faltered Miss Wedderburn, in a low tone. "I know how suspicious you detectives are. You seem to think that I know more than I tell you; but you are wrong--I do not."
"I suspect neither you nor Mr. Ferris," said Gebb, quietly; "but it was so strange that you should faint at a simple question, that I naturally wished to find out the reason."
"Well, sir, you know it now."
"I know the reason you choose to give," replied Gebb, significantly, "but you will excuse my saying that it is rather a weak one."
"I can give no other."
"You could if you wished."