Then they stood, the pair of them, in Robert Turold's bedroom, looking down on the dead man, swathed in his graveclothes, with a wreath of flowers from Mrs.Pendleton on his breast.

Removing this symbol of human pretense against the reality of things, Charles Turold bared the arm of the corpse, and pointing to it exclaimed-- "Could those marks have been made by Sisily ?" In his examination of the marks thus revealed to him, Mr.Brimsdown had the strange feeling that their existence was, in some way, the justification of the dead man's summons to him.
"Do you know how these marks were made ?" he said, turning to Charles.
"I do not.

But I do know that they prove that Sisily is innocent." Charles Turold spoke defiantly, but there was a slight note of interrogation in his voice which the lawyer chose to ignore.
"They were made by a man's hand," the young man persisted, looking earnestly at him.
"Do the police know of them ?" "That I cannot tell you." Another question was in Mr.Brimsdown's mind, but the young man's haggard face, the mingled misery and expectation of his glance, checked the utterance of it.

He had the idea that Charles's manner suggested something more--some revelation yet to come.

But the young man did not speak.
"Is this all you wanted to show me ?" Mr.Brimsdown hinted.
"Is it not enough ?" "I do not see that it throws any light on Miss Turold's disappearance.