, looking steadily away, and
with a faint color in her cheeks. "Why do you ask? Did he not do his
work properly?"

"Oh, yes, he did his work very well, I believe," Mr. Thurwell said
impatiently. "It was what he did after working hours, and which has just
come to my notice, which makes me ask you. It seems he spent the whole
of his spare time making covert, but I must say ingenious, inquiries
respecting Sir Geoffrey's murder, and I am also given to understand that
he paid Falcon's Nest an uninvited visit in the middle of the night.
What does it all mean? Was it merely curiosity, or had he any object in
it?"

"I think--he had an object," she answered slowly.

"Indeed!" Mr. Thurwell raised his eyebrows and waited for an
explanation.

"You remember, papa, that awful scene here when Rachel Kynaston died,
and what her last words to me were?"

"Yes, I remember perfectly," Mr. Thurwell answered gravely.

"Well, at that time I could not help having just a suspicion that Mr.
Brown must be mixed up in it in some way, and it seemed to me that I
should not be quite at ease if I let matters go on without doing
anything, so I--well, this young man came down here to see whether he
could find out anything."

Mr. Thurwell seldom frowned at his daughter, of whom he was secretly a
little afraid, but he did so now. He was seriously angry.

"It was not a matter for you to have concerned yourself in at all," he
said, rising from his seat. "At least, I should have been consulted."

"It was all very foolish, I know," she admitted humbly.

"It was worse than foolish; it was wrong and undutiful," he declared. "I
am astonished that my daughter should have mixed herself up with such
underhand work. And may I ask why I was kept in ignorance?"

"Because you would not have allowed me to do what I did," she said
quietly, with downcast eyes. "I thought it was my duty. I have been
punished--punished severely."

He softened a little, and resumed his seat. She was certainly very
contrite. He was silent for a moment or two, and then asked her a
question.

"Did this young man--detective, I suppose he was--find out anything
about Mr. Brown?"

She looked up, a little surprised at the curiosity in his tone.

"Why, papa, it was I who found out how stupid I had been," she said.
"When I discovered that our mysterious tenant was Bernard Maddison, of
course I saw the absurdity of suspecting him at once."

Mr. Thurwell moved a little uneasily in