Jean did not dream of anything like that; but Lite, going about his work with the easy calm that marked his manner always, was quite as puzzled over the errand of the night-prowler as was Jean herself.
For three years Lite had lain aside the mystery of the footprints on the kitchen floor on the night after the inquest, as a puzzle he would probably never solve.

He had come to remember them as a vagrant incident that carried no especial meaning.

But now they seemed to carry a new significance,--if only he could get at the key.

For three years he had gone along quietly, working and saving all he could, and looking after Jean in an unobtrusive way, believing that Aleck was guilty,--and being careful to give no hint of that belief to any one.
And now Jean herself seemed to be leading him unconsciously face to face with doubt and mystery.

It tantalized him.