ed
in a more or less humble capacity in Lyne's Store. He wanted to know
whether she knew that the girl had been dismissed, and whether that made
much difference to her. Then again, his conversation with Odette Rider
had not led him to the conclusion that she could afford to throw up her
work. She spoke of finding another job, and that did not sound as though
her mother was in a good position.

"Is there any necessity for your daughter working for a living?" he asked
bluntly, and she dropped her eyes.

"It is her wish," she said in a low voice. "She does not get on with
people about here," she added hastily.

There was a brief silence, then he rose and offered his hand.

"I do hope I haven't worried you with my questions," he said, "and I
daresay you wonder why I have come. I will tell you candidly that I am
engaged in investigating this murder, and I was hoping to hear that your
daughter, in common with the other people who were brought into contact
with Mr. Lyne, might give me some thread of a clue which would lead to
more important things."

"A detective?" she asked, and he could have sworn there was horror in her
eyes.

"A sort of detective," he laughed, "but not a formidable one, I hope,
Mrs. Rider."

She saw him to the door, and watched him as he disappeared down the
drive; then walked slowly back to the room and stood against the marble
mantelpiece, her head upon her arms, weeping softly.

Jack Tarling left Hertford more confused than ever. He had instructed the
fly driver to wait for him at the gates, and this worthy he proceeded to
pump.

Mrs. Rider had been living in Hertford for four years, and was greatly
respected. Did the cabman know the daughter? Oh yes, he had seen the
young lady once or twice, but "She don't come very often," he explained.
"By all accounts she doesn't get on with her father."

"Her father? I did not know she had a father," said Tarling in surprise.

Yes, there was a father. He was an infrequent visitor, and usually came
up from London by the late train and was driven in his own brougham to
the house. He had not seen him--indeed, very few people had, but by all
accounts he was a very nice man, and well-connected in the City.

Tarling had telegraphed to the assistant who had been placed at his
disposal by Scotland Yard, and Detective-Inspector Whiteside was waiting
for him at the station.

"Any fresh news?" asked Tarling.

"Yes, sir, there's rather an important clue come