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things did look black against him. I don't see how anyone could blame us for

jumping to the conclusions we did. Still, there it is, we were in the wrong,

and now there's a beastly feeling that one ought to make amends; which is

difficult, when one doesn't like the fellow a bit better than one did before.

The whole thing's damned awkward! And I'm thankful he's had the tact to

take himself off. It's a good thing Styles wasn't the mater's to leave to him.

Couldn't bear to think of the fellow lording it here. He's welcome to her

money."

You'll be able to keep up the place all right?" I asked.

Oh, yes. There are the death duties, of course, but half my father's money

goes with the place, and Lawrence will stay with us for the present, so there

is his share as well. We shall be pinched at first, of course, because, as I

once told you, I am in a bit of a hole financially myself. Still, the Johnnies

will wait now."

In the general relief at Inglethorp's approaching departure, we had the most

genial breakfast we had experienced since the tragedy. Cynthia, whose

young spirits were naturally buoyant, was looking quite her pretty self

again, and we all, with the exception of Lawrence, who seemed unalterably

gloomy and nervous, were quietly cheerful, at the opening of a new and

hopeful future.

The papers, of course, had been full of the tragedy. Glaring headlines,

sandwiched biographies of every member of the household, subtle

innuendoes, the usual familiar tag about the police having a clue. Nothing

was spared us. It was a slack time. The war was momentarily inactive, and

the newspapers seized with avidity on this crime in fashionable life: "The

Mysterious Affair at Styles" was the topic of the moment.

Naturally it was very annoying for the Cavendishes. The house was

constantly besieged by reporters, who were consistently denied admission,

but who continued to haunt the village and the grounds, where they lay in

wait with cameras, for any unwary members of the household. We all lived

in a blast of publicity. The Scotland Yard men came and went, examining,

questioning, lynx-eyed and reserved of tongue. Towards what end they were

working, we did not know. Had they any clue, or would the whole thing

remain in the category of undiscovered crimes?

After breakfast, Dorcas came up to me rather mysteriously, and asked if she

might have a few words with me.

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