ge in her manner. Between ourselves, I
strongly suspect it to be a case of deliberate suicide. She was
utterly broken down by the awful blow."

"I don't see any motive for suicide," I remarked. Then I asked, "Has
she ever been known to meet anyone on the river-bank at night?"

Old Parkinson was usually an impenetrable person. He fidgeted, and I
saw that my question was an awkward one for him to answer without
telling a lie.

"The truth will have to be discovered about this, you know," I went
on. "Therefore, if you have any knowledge likely to assist us at the
inquest it is your duty to explain."

"Well, sir," he answered, after a short pause, "to tell the truth, in
this last week there have been some funny rumours in the village."

"About what?"

"People say that she was watched by Drake, Lord Nassington's
gamekeeper, who saw her at two o'clock in the morning walking
arm-in-arm with an old gentleman. I heard the rumour down at the
Golden Ball, but I wouldn't believe it. Why, Mr. Courtenay's only been
dead a month or two. The man Drake is a bragging fellow, and I think
most people discredit his statement."

"Well," I said, "it might possibly have been true. It seems hardly
conceivable that she should go wandering alone by the river at night.
She surely had some motive in going there. Was she only seen by the
gamekeeper on one occasion?"

"Only once. But, of course, he soon spread it about the village, and
it formed a nice little tit-bit of gossip. As soon as I heard it I
took steps to deny it."

"It never reached the young lady's ears?"

"Oh, no," the old servant answered. "We were careful to keep the
scandal to ourselves, knowing how it would pain her. She's had
sufficient trouble in her life, poor thing." And with tears in his
grey old eyes, he added: "I have known her ever since she was a child
in her cradle. It's awful that her end should come like this."

He was a most trustworthy and devoted servant, having spent nearly
thirty years of his life in the service of the family, until he had
become almost part of it. His voice quivered with emotion when he
spoke of the dead daughter of the house, but he knew that towards me
it was not a servant's privilege to entirely express the grief he
felt.

I put other questions regarding the dead woman's recent actions, and
he was compelled to admit that they had, of late, been quite
unaccountable. Her absences were frequent, and she appeared to
sometimes make lon