r before dinner."

Hardly believing his ears, Trenholme walked off by her side. No wonder
Police Constable Farrow was surprised. And still less room was there
for wonder that Hilton Fenley, driving with Winter from the station,
should shout an imperative order to Brodie to stop the car when he saw
the couple in the distance.

"Isn't that Miss Sylvia?" he said harshly, well knowing there could be
only one answer.

"Yes, sir," said the chauffeur.

"Who is the man with her?"

"Mr. Trenholme, the artist, from the White Horse, sir."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir. I've seen him several times hereabouts."

Fenley was in a rare temper already, for Winter had told him Brother
Robert was at home, a development on which he had by no means counted.
Now his sallow face darkened with anger.

"Drive on!" he said. "I gave orders, at your request, Mr Winter, that
no strangers were to be admitted. I must see to it that I am obeyed in
future. It is surprising, too, that the police are so remiss in such
an important matter."

For once, Winter was perforce silent. In his heart of hearts he blamed
Detective Inspector Furneaux.

CHAPTER X

FURNEAUX STATES SOME FACTS AND CERTAIN FANCIES

This record of a day remarkable beyond any other in the history of
secluded Roxton might strike a more cheerful note if it followed the
two young people across the park. It is doubtful whether or not Sylvia
Manning's unpremeditated action in accompanying Trenholme was inspired
by a sudden interest in art or by revolt against the tribulations
which had befallen her. Of course there is some probability that a
full and true account of the conversation between man and maid as they
walked the half mile to Jackson's farm might throw a flood of light on
this minor problem. Be that as it may, stern necessity demands that
the chronicle should revert for a time to the sayings and doings of
the Fenleys and the detectives.

Despite a roundabout route, Furneaux had merely led Robert Fenley
through the gardens to the Quarry Wood. Somewhat to the detective's
surprise, the rock was unguarded. The two were standing there,
discussing the crime, when Police Constable Farrow returned to his
post. Furneaux said nothing--for some reason he did not emphasize the
fact to his companion that a sentry should have been found stationed
there--but a sharp glance at the policeman warned the latter that he
ran considerable risk of a subsequent reprimand.

Conscious