ugh the world was evil, "the thrushes still sang in it."

Buntingford and Geoffrey were seen walking up from the lake when tea was
nearly over.

All eyes were turned to them.

"Now, then," said Julian Horne--"for the mystery, and its key. What a
pity mysteries are generally such frauds! They can't keep it up. They let
you down when you least expect it."

"Well, what news?" cried Helena, as the two men approached. Buntingford
shook his head.

"Not much to tell--very little, indeed."

It appeared to Horne that both men looked puzzled and vaguely excited.
But their story was soon told. They had seen Richard Stimson, a labourer,
who reported having noticed a strange lady crossing the park in the
direction of the wood, which, however, she had not entered, having
finally changed her course so as to bear towards the Western Lodge and
the allotments.

"That, you will observe, was about ten o'clock," interjected French, "and
I saw my lady about eight." Buntingford found a chair, lit a cigarette,
and resumed:

"She appeared in the village some time yesterday morning and went into
the church. She told the woman who was cleaning there that she had come
to look at an old window which was mentioned in her guide-book. The woman
noticed that she stayed some time looking at the monuments in the church,
and the tombs in the Buntingford chantry, which all the visitors go to
see. She ordered some sandwiches at the Rose-and-Crown and got into talk
with the landlord. He says she asked the questions strangers generally do
ask--'Who lived in the neighbourhood?'--If she took a lodging in the
village for August were there many nice places to go and see?--and so on.
She said she had visited the Buntingford tombs in the chantry, and asked
some questions about the family, and myself--Was I married?--Who was the
heir? etc. Then when she had paid her bill, she enquired the way across
the park to Feetham Station, and said she would have a walk and catch a
six o'clock train back to London. She loved the country, she said--and
liked walking. And that really is--all!"

"Except about her appearance," put in Geoffrey. "The landlord said he
thought she must be an actress, or 'summat o' that sort.' She had such a
strange way of looking at you. But when we asked what that meant, he
scratched his head and couldn't tell us. All that we got out of him was
he wouldn't like to have her for a lodger--'she'd frighten his missus.'
Oh, and he did say that s