Part 2 (1/2)

After her came an elderly, well-preserved woman in an elaborate evening toilette, the personification of the precise and conventional chaperon.

The door closed; the car drove away; the Inspector turned to Viner with a shake of his head.

”Just home from the theatre!” he said. ”And--to hear this! Well, it's got to be done, Mr. Viner, anyhow.”

Viner, who had often observed the girl whom they had just seen with an interest for which he had never troubled to account, found himself wis.h.i.+ng that Miss Penkridge was there in his place. He did not know what part he was to play, what he was to do or say; worse than that, he did not know if the girl in whose presence he would certainly find himself within a minute or two was very fond of the man whom he had just found done to death. In that case--but here his musings were cut short by the fact that the Inspector had touched the bell in the portico of number seven, and that the door had opened, to reveal a smart and wondering parlour-maid, who glanced with surprise at the inspector's uniform.

”Hus.h.!.+ This is Mr. Ashton's?” said the Inspector. ”Yes--well, now, what is the name of the lady--the elderly lady--I saw come in just now? Keep quiet, there's a good girl,--the fact is, Mr. Ashton's had an accident, and I want to see that lady.”

”Mrs. Killenhall,” answered the parlour-maid.

”And the young lady--her name?” asked the Inspector.

”Miss Wickham.”

The Inspector walked inside the house.

”Just ask Mrs. Killenhall and Miss Wickham if they'll be good enough to see Inspector Drillford for a few minutes,” he said. Then, as the girl closed the door and turned away up the inner hall, he whispered to Viner.

”Better see both and be done with it. It's no use keeping bad news too long; they may as well know--both.”

The parlour-maid reappeared at the door of a room along the hall; and the two men, advancing in answer to her summons, entered what was evidently the dining-room of the house. The two ladies had thrown off their wraps; the younger one sat near a big, cheery fire, holding her slender fingers to the blaze; the elder stood facing the door in evident expectancy. The room itself was luxuriously furnished in a somewhat old-fas.h.i.+oned, heavy style; everything about it betokened wealth and comfort. And that its owner was expected home every minute was made evident to the two men by the fact that a spirit-case was set on the centre table, with gla.s.ses and mineral waters and cigars; Viner remembered, as his eyes encountered these things, that a half-burned cigar lay close to the dead man's hand in that dark pa.s.sage so close by.

”Mrs. Killenhall? Miss Wickham?” began Drillford, looking sharply from one to the other. ”Sorry to break in on you like this, ladies, but the fact is, there has been an accident to Mr. Ashton, and I'm obliged to come and tell you about it.”

Viner, who had remained a little in the background, was watching the faces of the two to whom this initial breaking of news was made. And he saw at once that there was going to be no scene. The girl by the fire looked for an instant at the inspector with an expression of surprise, but it was not the surprise of great personal concern. As for the elder woman, after one quick glance from Drillford to Viner, whom she evidently recognized, she showed absolute self-possession.

”A bad accident?” she asked.

Drillford again looked from the elder to the younger lady.

”You'll excuse me if I ask what relation you ladies are to Mr. Ashton?”

he said with a significant glance at Mrs. Killenhall.

”None!” replied Mrs. Killenhall. ”Miss Wickham is Mr. Ashton's ward. I am Miss Wickham's chaperon--and companion.”

”Well, ma'am,” said Drillford, ”then I may tell you that my news is--just about as serious as it possibly could be, you understand.”

In the silence that followed, the girl turned toward the visitors, and Viner saw her colour change a little. And it was she who first spoke.

”Don't be afraid to tell us,” she said. ”Is Mr. Ashton dead?”

Drillford inclined his head, and spoke as he was bidden.

”I'm sorry to say he is,” he replied. ”And still more to be obliged to tell you that he came to his death by violence. The truth is--”

He paused, looking from one to the other, as if to gauge the effect of his words. And again it was the girl who spoke.

”What is the truth?” she asked.

”Murder!” said Drillford. ”Just that!”