iest."

"Why are you miserable, Mrs. Capella?" asked Brett gently.

"I cannot tell you. Perhaps it is owing to my own folly. Are you sure that
David and Helen intend to get married?"

"Yes."

"Then, for Heaven's sake, let the wedding take place. Let them leave
Beechcroft and its associations for ever."

"That cannot be until Hume's character is cleared from the odium attached
to it."

"You mean my brother's death. But that has been settled by the courts.
David was declared 'Not guilty.' Surely that will suffice! No good purpose
can be gained by reopening an inquiry closed by the law."

"I think you are a little unjust to your cousin in this matter, Mrs.
Capella. He and his future wife feel very grievously the slur cast upon
his name. You know perfectly well that if half the people in this county
were asked, 'Who killed Sir Alan Hume-Frazer?' they would say 'David
Hume.' The other half would shake their heads in dubiety, and prefer not
to be on visiting terms with David Hume and his wife. No; your brother was
killed in a particularly foul way. He died needlessly, so far as we can
learn. His death should be avenged, and this can only be done by tracking
his murderer and ruthlessly bringing the wretch to justice. Are not these
your own sentiments when divested of all conflicting desires?"

Brett's concluding sentence seemed to petrify his hearer.

"In what way can I help you?" she murmured, and the words appeared to come
from a heart of stone.

"There are many items I want cleared up, but I do not wish to distress you
unduly. Can you not refer me to your solicitors, for instance? I imagine
they will be able to answer all my queries."

"No. I prefer to deal with the affair myself."

"Very well. I will commence with you personally. Why did you quarrel with
your brother in London a few days before his death?"

"Because I was living extravagantly. Not only that, but he disapproved of
my manner of life. In those days I was headstrong and wilful. I loved a
Bohemian existence combined with absurd luxury, or rather, a wildly
useless expenditure of money. No one who knows me now could picture me
then. Yet now I am good and unhappy. Then I was wicked, in some people's
eyes, and happy. Strange, is it not?"

"Not altogether so unusual as you may think. Was any other person
interested in what I may term the result of the dispute between your
brother and yourself?"

"That is a difficult question to answer. I was very c