ere is some justification for Mrs. Pendleton's belief that a
wealthy and successful man like her brother was not likely to take his own
life, unless there was some hidden reason for him to do so. If we knew
more of what happened downstairs yesterday we might be in a better
position to judge of that. The case strikes me as a very peculiar
one--indeed, it has some remarkable features. My first task will be to
interview all the persons who were present at yesterday's gathering. Can
you tell me if the brothers were on good terms?"

"I believe so."

"Is Austin Turold a poor man?"

"I know nothing about him. But what has that got to do with it?"

"It may have much to do with it. He may have stood to inherit a fortune
from Robert."

"You surely do not suspect the brother?"

"I suspect no one, at present," returned Barrant. "I am merely glancing at
the scanty facts within our knowledge and seeing what can be gathered from
them. Robert Turold is found dead in his study, with his hands on an old
clock, where he kept important papers, including his will. We are indebted
to Austin Turold for that knowledge. But how did Austin Turold come to
know that his brother kept his will in the clock-case? Did Robert tell
him, or did he find it out? Was Austin aware of the contents of the will?
Why did Robert go to the clock? Was his idea to destroy the will? And was
that after or before he was shot, or shot himself?

"These are questions we cannot answer without further knowledge, but they
seem to point to the existence of some family secret of which we know
nothing. We must find out what it is. I shall first interview Austin
Turold, and then call on Dr. Ravenshaw, if time permits. You'd better drop
me at the churchtown on your way back to Penzance. There's really nothing
to detain you any longer."

They returned to the churchtown in the motor-car, and Pengowan from the
back seat directed the way to Austin Turold's lodgings.

CHAPTER XIII

"Oh yes, I'm modern enough," said Austin Turold, balancing his cigarette
in his white fingers, and glancing at Barrant with a reflective air--"that
is to say, I believe in America and the League of Nations, but not in God.
It's not the fashion to believe in God or have a conscience nowadays. They
both went out with the war. After all, what's a conscience to a liver? But
here I am, chattering on to distract my sad thoughts, although I can see
in your eye that you have it in you to ask me s