"Hoist with his own petard," Carlton said, his lip curling. "That stick is as notorious as its owner; it is lead-filled, and has often been employed as an offensive weapon. What happened next?"

"I was too dazed to think," Marianne confessed. "But Maggie was wonderful. She escorted me out of the place and hailed a cab. She told me never to come back, to leave London if I could." As she spoke, the events Marianne had tried to forget came back with a peculiar vividness. Once again she seemed to stand shivering in a fog-shrouded street, with the distant gaslights glimmering through the mist. Again she heard Maggie say, " 'E didn't see me, but 'e'll know who done it. 'E allus knows. They say 'e's in league wif the Devil. Old 'Arry'll take me in…"

She repeated the words. Carlton nodded thoughtfully.

"Old Harry. Well, it's not much, but it is more than I had. Don't worry; I inquired at the hospitals and the police stations, and no one answering her description has turned up."

"Why are you taking so much trouble?" Marianne asked. "She is only a poor ignorant woman -"

"My motives need not concern you," was the curt answer.

But Marianne thought she knew. Carlton believed that Maggie was more than a casual acquaintance and that she might give information about Marianne's real background – information that would prove to the Duchess that she was the fraud and the cheat Carlton believed her to be.

She tried to be angry, but the memories of her folly had so lowered her opinion of herself that she could only feel chagrin and remorse. How could she blame Carlton for thinking the worst of her? And the clergyman… Marianne's heart sank when she thought how that saintly man would receive her story. She imagined the handsome face hardening with revulsion and she felt like bursting into tears.

"Perhaps it would be better to forget it," she said in a stilted voice. "Trying to trace her might only call attention to her. Mr. Bagshot seems to have dismissed the incident."

Carlton did not reply for a moment.

"Possibly he has," he said at last. "But… I don't want to frighten you, but you are so incredibly careless and naive! The man is well known for harboring grudges, and it would not be difficult for him to trace you if he cared to do so. His presence at the opera that night may have been a coincidence. Or he may have heard a description of the Duchess's protegee and followed her carriage to see if you were the girl he was seeking. Are you all right? You are not going to faint?"

"Certainly not," Marianne said, though her lips were so stiff with terror she could scarcely shape the word. She had convinced herself that she was safe from that danger, at least.

"You are very pale. Mind you, I think it unlikely that Bagshot would dare pursue you here. I only mention the possibility to warn you. Don't wander about alone."

"No. And you will look for Maggie?"

"I have people in London searching for her. I will telegraph the information you have given me at once."

In her distress Marianne had not been aware of her surroundings. Now she realized that they were approaching a ridge of low but jagged hills, harbingers of the more distant mountains. Bare granite spurs stood up between the pines that clothed their slopes.

"Are you recovered?" Carlton asked. "Do you wish to return, or have you strength to go on a little farther?"

"I would prefer to ride awhile longer."

"Follow me, then. We must go single file for a time."

Before long they were among the trees and riding along a narrow path blanketed with fallen needles. As they proceeded the going became more difficult. The trees closed in and the silence was profound. When Marianne heard a burst of song from a lark winging high and unseen above the overhanging boughs, it was as startling as a shout. Then she became aware of another sound, a distant murmuring, and she realized that the path had taken a downward angle. Ahead she caught glimpses of sunlight and was glad to see it; the green gloom around her was depressing.

They came out of the trees and Carlton's arm shot out like a bar, grasping Stella's bridle and stopping her.

They were on a rocky ledge, wide enough to make Carlton's gesture a needless precaution, though an unskilled rider or a frightened horse might easily go over the brink. Below, a wide mountain stream ran murmuring over peaty brown rocks. So steep was the gorge through which it ran that although the sky above was visible, the sunlight would only strike down into the depths at midday. Now the oblique rays cast a strange light over a scene of wild grandeur – the rocky slopes and twisted tree trunks, the bubbling water, the glistening stones in its depth.

The murmur she had heard was now a roar. Looking for its source Marianne saw that some distance to the left the water dropped over a small waterfall, no more than ten feet high, but narrowing so that the stream dropped with considerable force into a dark pool beyond. The pool and the portion of the stream below it seemed quite deep. She could not see bottom there. A brooding silence hung over the place. She would not have been surprised to behold a brown, inhuman face crowned with twisted horns peer out from behind the rocks.

And then, as unmistakably as if he had spoken, she knew why Carlton had brought her here.

"Is this where it happened? Where he died?"

"It seems that your claims of clairvoyance are not entirely unfounded," Carlton said. "Yes, this is the place. Holmes's cloak was found caught among the rocks beyond the waterfall. He was a great walker, and this was one of his favorite spots. The stream is comparatively shallow now. When there are heavy rains – as there were that autumn eighteen years ago – the water rises and the current is extremely swift. Gruffstone told me he had never seen it so high as it was that year; one of the men in the searching party he led came close to being swept away himself."

"But his body was never found," Marianne mused.

"That is not surprising. This stream is a tributary of the Tay, which it flows into a few miles downstream. The body might have been swept down all the way to the sea, or it might have been caught under some rocky bank."

"Yet I find it hard to believe no trace was ever found. The Duchess must have had every inch of the area searched."

"I believe she still harbors the belief that Holmes was snatched bodily into heaven like the prophet Elijah," Carlton said. "Don't start imagining things, Miss Ransom. If he had survived, even wounded and suffering from that convenient device of novelists, temporary amnesia, he would have been found eventually. The Duchess offered incredible rewards."

"I suppose so." Marianne tugged at the reins and turned Stella. "The place is uncanny. Let us go back – unless you have any other unpleasant news or ugly encounters for me."

"No, I have done my share. No doubt Gruffstone will have more to say."

Marianne grimaced. She had forgotten that the doctor was due to arrive shortly. She wondered what his specious excuse for coming might be. She knew the real reason, for it was also Carlton's. They feared her influence over the Duchess. She wished the doctor did not regard her so inimically, for she felt the need of someone she could confide in and lean upon. Carlton had his moments of kindness, but if she tried to lean on him he was just as apt to step back and let her fall to the ground.

Instead of going back the way they had come, they followed a great circle that led to the main road beyond the village. Before long the church spire came into view. Conscious of her disheveled state, Marianne slowed Stella to a walk and tried to effect repairs, not an easy task without comb, mirror or…

"My hat!" she exclaimed in dismay. "Oh, dear, I have lost my beautiful hat."

"You can hardly blame me for failing to retrieve it," Carlton said. "I was too concerned about your breaking your head to worry about its covering."