d. Biting his pipe
viciously, Trenholme sought the solitude of a woodland footpath, and
tried to find distraction in studying the effects of diffused light.

Returning to the inn about tea time, he was angered anew by a telegram
from the magazine editor. It read:

_News in Pictures_ wants sketches and photographs of Fenley case
and surroundings. Have suggested you for commission. Why not pick
up a tenner? Rush drawings by train.

"That's the last straw," growled Trenholme fiercely. He raced out,
bought a set of picture postcards showing the village and the Tudor
mansion, and dispatched them to the editor of _News in Pictures_ with
his compliments. Coming back from the station, he passed the Easton
lodge of The Towers. A daring notion seized him, and he proceeded to
put it into practice forthwith. He presented himself at the gate, and
was faced by Mrs. Bates and a policeman. Taught by experience to
beware of strangers that day, the keeper's wife gazed at him through
an insurmountable iron palisade. The constable merely surveyed him
with a professional air, as one who would interfere if needful.

"I am calling on Miss Sylvia Manning," announced Trenholme promptly.

"By appointment, sir?"

"No, but I have reason to believe that she would wish to see me."

"My orders are that nobody is to be admitted to the house without
written instructions, sir."

"How can Miss Manning give written instructions unless she knows I am
here?"

"Them's my orders," said Mrs. Bates firmly.

"But," he persisted, "it really amounts to this--that you decide
whether or not Miss Manning wishes to receive me, or any other
visitor."

Mrs. Bates found the point of view novel. Moreover, she liked this
young man's smile. She hesitated, and temporized.

"If you don't mind waitin' a minute till I telephone----" she said.

"Certainly. Say that Mr. John Trenholme, who was sketching in the
park this morning, asks the favor of a few words."

The guardian of the gate disappeared; soon she came out again, and
unlocked the gate.

"Miss Manning is just leavin' the house," she said. "If you walk up
the avenue you'll meet her, sir."

Now, it happened that Trenholme's request for an interview reached
Sylvia Manning at a peculiar moment. She had been shocked and
distressed beyond measure by the morning's tragedy. Mortimer Fenley
was one of those men whom riches render morose, but his manner had
always been kind to his ward. A pleasa