of her maid. She had not
even troubled to tell her father, although the elderly peer was her only
near relative. Not until he was seated at breakfast did she inform him
in level, passionless tones of what had happened. Even then she said
nothing of her suspicions of Ralph Fairfield. But for her pale face she
might have been speaking of something in which she was but slightly
interested.

The Duke of Burghley dropped his knife and fork at her first words. As
she finished, he stood over her and passed a hand tenderly around her.

"My poor, poor little girl," he said. "This is terrible. Fairfield ought
to have seen me first. I must telephone for your aunt to come and stay
here until we can get away."

She shook her head a trifle impatiently.

"I don't want her, father. She cannot help me. I would rather be here
alone with you. It would drive me mad to have sympathy showered on me. I
want to see no one. I want to be left to myself."

"But--my dear, I know it is a shock, but you cannot be allowed to
brood----"

She rose abruptly from the table and put him from her.

"I shall not brood," she said. "I shall work. I am going to Scotland
Yard to learn what they know."

"Yes, yes, if you wish it," he said soothingly. "We will go at once. I
will order the car now."

"I would rather go alone, if you don't mind," she said decisively, and
the door closed behind her.

"She always was headstrong," remarked the Duke of Burghley to the
devilled kidneys, and stared moodily into the fire.

Since his wife had died he had always been governed by his impetuous,
strong-willed daughter, and accepted the situation philosophically so
long as he had his books and his club. He led a complacent life from
which he was rarely stirred. But he was hit harder than he cared to
admit by the way in which she accepted the tragedy. He wondered vaguely
what he ought to do, and decided to consult Brown--Brown being the
senior member of his firm of family solicitors.

In his room at Scotland Yard Superintendent Heldon Foyle, a cigar
between his teeth, was studying the book which his staff was compiling.
Already it formed a bulky volume of many hundred typewritten pages. Here
were reports, signed statements, photographs, personal descriptions,
facsimiles of finger-prints, telegrams, letters, surveyors' plans,
notes--everything, important and unimportant, that might have a possible
bearing on the case. The superintendent turned over the pages with