"

She was gone a few moments and came back with a little buff form, which
she handed to the detective. He looked and read:

"My visit cancelled. Do not write to me at flat. I will communicate
with you when I reach my destination."

The telegram had been handed in at the General Post Office, London, and
was dated nine o'clock--three hours, according to expert opinion, before
the murder was committed!

CHAPTER VII

THE WOMAN IN THE CASE

"May I keep this telegram?" asked Tarling.

The woman nodded. He saw that she was nervous, ill at ease and worried.

"I can't quite understand why Odette should not come," she said. "Is
there any particular reason?"

"That I can't say," said Tarling. "But please don't let it worry you,
Mrs. Rider. She probably changed her mind at the last moment and is
staying with friends in town."

"Then you haven't seen her?" asked Mrs. Rider anxiously.

"I haven't seen her for several days."

"Is anything wrong?" Her voice shook for a second, but she recovered
herself. "You see," she made an attempt to smile. "I have been in the
house for two or three days, and I have seen neither Odette nor--nor
anybody else," she added quickly.

Who was she expecting to see, wondered Tarling, and why did she check
herself? Was it possible that she had not heard of the murder? He
determined to test her.

"Your daughter is probably detained in town owing to Mr. Lyne's death,"
he said, watching her closely.

She started and went white.

"Mr. Lyne's death?" she stammered. "Has he died? That young man?"

"He was murdered in Hyde Park yesterday morning," said Tarling, and she
staggered back and collapsed into a chair.

"Murdered! Murdered!" she whispered. "Oh, God! Not that, not that!"

Her face was ashen white, and she was shaking in every limb, this stately
woman who had walked so serenely into the drawing-room a few minutes
before.

Presently she covered her face with her hands and began to weep softly
and Tarling waited.

"Did you know Mr. Lyne?" he asked after a while.

She shook her head.

"Have you heard any stories about Mr. Lyne?"

She looked up.

"None," she said listlessly, "except that he was--not a very nice man."

"Forgive me asking you, but are you very much interested--" He hesitated,
and she lifted her head.

He did not know how to put this question into words. It puzzled him that
the daughter of this woman, who was evidently well off, should be engag