Gifford laid his hand on her as she sought to move away towards the gate and the waiting enemy.
"Miss Morriston," he said with decision, "you must not go; you must have no more communication with this man Henshaw. He can prove nothing against you, while I can prove everything in your favour."
Her look of fear and impatience changed at the last words to one of startled incredulity.
"You, Mr. Gifford? What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I say," he returned decisively, "I can prove, if need be, that you had no hand in that cowardly ruffian's death."
"You? How?" the girl gasped, staring at him with dilated eyes.
"I will convince you," he answered quietly. "When I told you the other day that I had found your brooch on the lawn I said, for an obvious reason, what was not true. I found it in the room where Clement Henshaw died."
"You did," the girl gasped almost in terror. "When?"
"A few minutes after his death," Gifford replied calmly. "I happened to be present in the room when he came by his fatal wound."