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Updated: June 5, 2025
"Was that a quotation, Mr. Gifford?" Miss Morriston asked, clearly with the object of dismissing the unfortunate episode. "My remark about the cloak of night?" he replied. "Perhaps. I seem to have heard something like it somewhere." And as he spoke he glanced curiously at Miss Tredworth. Next evening the two friends at the Golden Lion were engaged to dine with the Morristons.
Kelson was staring stupidly at Gifford. "And you knew they were blood-stains?" "I could not tell that," was the answer. "But now it is pretty certain they were." For some seconds neither man spoke. Then with an effort Kelson seemed to nerve himself to put another question. "Hugh," he said, his eyes pitiful with fear, "you you don't think Muriel Tredworth had anything to do with Henshaw's death?"
"I remember them quite well, although we didn't know much about them." "Don't you recollect," Miss Elyot continued, "meeting this very Mr. Henshaw at a big garden party they gave. I know you played tennis with him." "Did I?" Miss Tredworth replied. "What a memory you have, Gladys. You can't expect me to recollect every one of the scores of men I must have played tennis with."
But somehow Miss Morriston contrived that they should never be alone together; when Kelson and Muriel Tredworth strolled off lover-like, Miss Morriston kept her brother with her to make a third. The three went round to the stables and inspected the hunters, then through the shrubbery to admire a wonderful bed of snowdrops.
"You would have been the last person to enter my head in that connexion. And then Kelson came out of the passage from the tower with Miss Tredworth, to whom he had just proposed. He introduced me in a way which suggested their new relationship, and we had just began to chat when to my horror I noticed what to my mind went to prove that she was the person for whom I was looking.
There were dark red stains on the white roses she wore on her dress. It was an unpleasant shock to me, placing me, as it seemed, in a terribly difficult position. For, at the first blush of my discovery, it all seemed to fit in. Clement Henshaw had been, I imagined, in love with Miss Tredworth before Kelson appeared on the scene.
"But surely," Kelson remonstrated, "the sooner we take the line of putting ourselves in the right the better." Again Gifford paused before replying. "Can Miss Tredworth give no explanation, has she no idea as to how the stains came on her dress?" "None whatever," was the emphatic answer. "You are absolutely sure of that?" Kelson jumped up from his chair.
"How stupid and clumsy of me. Your lovely china." "It was my fault," Edith Morriston protested, her clear-cut face showing no trace of annoyance. "I thought you had hold of the cup, and I let it go too soon. Ring the bell, will you, Dick." "Please don't distress yourself, Miss Tredworth," Mr. Morriston entreated her as he crossed to the bell. "I'm sure it was not your fault."
She had turned and now led the way to the drawing-room. As they entered they were received by expectant looks. "Well, is the mystery solved?" young Tredworth inquired. Kelson gave him a silencing look. "You'll hear all about it in good time," he replied between lightness and gravity. Piercy rose to take his leave. "Oh, you must not go yet," Miss Morriston protested. "They are just bringing tea."
"During the short time we were together our talk was quite commonplace, mostly of the changes in the county." "Did he, Henshaw, know it formerly?" Morriston asked with some surprise. "Oh, yes," Miss Elyot answered, "he used to stay with some people over at Lamberton; you remember the Peltons, Muriel?" she turned to Miss Tredworth. "Of course you do." "Oh, yes," Muriel Tredworth answered.
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