in a more composed voice, as though reassured by the kindly look
in Captain Stanhill's eyes, "but I really didn't think it mattered. My
daughter knew nothing about the murder and as she is highly strung I did
not want her to be upset."

"Where was your daughter last night when the murder was committed?"
asked Merrington.

"In my room."

"Did either of you hear the scream or the shot?"

"No, my rooms are a long way from the left wing, and we were sitting
with the door shut."

"Then when did you learn about the murder?"

"Very soon after it happened. One of the maidservants came and told me."

"And you say that your daughter was with you at the time, and had been
with you a considerable time before?"

"Yes."

"I think that will do, Mrs. Rath, I have given you every opportunity,
but you still persist in telling falsehoods. Your daughter was seen
walking up the hall last night in the direction of the left wing shortly
before the murder was committed. The person who saw her was the maid
Milly Saker. Was that the real reason why you gave Milly leave of
absence to visit her mother this morning--so that she should not tell us
what she knew?"

"It is not true," gasped the housekeeper. "My daughter was not out of my
rooms last night, I assure you that is the truth."

"I wouldn't believe you on your oath," retorted Merrington. "Lumbe, go
and tell Caldew to bring in the girl."

CHAPTER XIII

The girl who entered the room a moment later was tall and graceful, with
a yearning expression in her soft dark eyes, as though in search of a
happiness which had been denied her by Fate. Her appearance was one of
unusual refinement. She had not a trace of the coarsened blowzy look so
common in English country girls; there was nothing of rustic lumpishness
in her slim figure, and there was more than mere prettiness in her
exquisite small features, her thick dark hair, her clear white skin with
a tracery of blue veins in the temples. Her high-bridged nose and firm
chin suggested some force of character, but that suggestion was
counteracted by her wistful tender mouth, with drooping underlip. The
face, on the whole, was a paradoxical one, containing elements of
strength and weakness, and the eyes were the index to a strange
passionate nature.

She advanced into the room quietly, with a swift glance, immediately
veiled by drooped lids, at the faces of the police officials who were
awaiting her. When she reached the far e