e to bed," suddenly observed the policeman who
had a faculty for seeing things. "There's a good fire burning in the
kitchen grate, and they wouldn't leave that. Must be out, both of 'em."

"Go in and knock quietly," counselled the sergeant.

He followed the policeman up the flagged walk to the cottage door, and
the other two presently went after them. In the starlight Brereton
looked round at these new surroundings--an old, thatched cottage, set in
a garden amongst trees and shrubs, with a lean-to shed at one end of it,
and over everything an atmosphere of silence.

The silence was suddenly broken. A quick, light step sounded on the
flagged path behind them, and the policemen turned their lamps in its
direction. And Brereton, looking sharply round, became aware of the
presence of a girl, who looked at these visitors wonderingly out of a
pair of beautiful grey eyes.

CHAPTER VI

THE MAYOR

Here, then, thought Brereton, was Gentleman Jack's daughter--the girl of
whom Bent had just been telling him. He looked at her narrowly as she
stood confronting the strange group. A self-possessed young woman, he
said to himself--beyond a little heightening of colour, a little
questioning look about eyes and lips she showed no trace of undue
surprise or fear. Decidedly a good-looking young woman, too, and not at
all the sort of daughter that a man of queer character would be supposed
to have--refined features, an air of breeding, a suggestion of culture.
And he noticed that as he and Bent raised their hats, the two policemen
touched their helmets--they were evidently well acquainted with the
girl, and eyed her with some misgiving as well as respect.

"Beg pardon, miss," said the sergeant, who was obviously anything but
pleased with his task. "But it's like this, d'you see?--your father,
now, does he happen to be at home?"

"What is it you want?" she asked. And beginning a glance of inquiry at
the sergeant she finished it at Bent. "Has something happened, Mr.
Bent?" she went on. "If you want my father, and he's not in, then I
don't know where he is--he went out early in the evening, and he hadn't
returned when I left the house an hour ago."

"I daresay it's nothing," replied Bent. "But the fact is that something
has happened. Your neighbour at the other end of the wood--old Mr.
Kitely, you know--he's been found dead."

Brereton, closely watching the girl, saw that this conveyed nothing to
her, beyond the mere announc