"Silas Pence."
"Ah!" Lister's hands clenched. "He hates me because you are to be my wife. He will go to the police."
"I don't think so," said Bella slowly. "He threatened to go, but as yet he has held his tongue."
"Why, when he hates me so?"
"I think—I think," said Bella slowly, "that Mr. Pence knows more about this matter than he chooses to admit."
Cyril uttered an exclamation. "Do you suspect him?"
"Not of the murder," she replied promptly; "he is too weak and timid a creature to commit a crime. But I know that he was poor; now he is unexpectedly rich, and we are aware," she added with emphasis, "that one hundred pounds was stolen from my father's safe on the night of the murder."
"But surely you do not connect a harmless man, like Pence, with the crime?"
"I say nothing, because I know nothing, Cyril. But if Mr. Pence is entirely innocent, why does he not accuse you, whom he hates."
"He has no grounds to go upon, dear."