d been weeping long, smiled
with gladness; the next moment she exclaimed distressfully.

'Oh, sir! To think you've been here alone all day! And in an apron!'

'Don't think about me, Miss Fouracres. You look worn out, and no wonder.
I'll get you some tea at once. Let the pony stand here a little; he's not
so tired as you are. Come in and have some tea, Miss Fouracres.'

Mr. Ruddiman would not be denied; he waited upon his hostess, got her a
very comfortable tea, and sat near her whilst she was enjoying it. Miss
Fouracres' story of the day's events still left her father's death most
mysterious. All that could be certainly known was that the landlord of the
Pig and Whistle had drunk rather freely with his friend the gardener at an
inn at Woodbury, and towards nine o'clock in the evening had gone out, as
he said, for a stroll before bedtime. Why he entered the grounds of
Woodbury Manor, and how he got into the pond there, no one could say.
People talked of suicide, but Miss Fouracres would not entertain that
suggestion. Of course there was to be an inquest, and one could only await
the result of such evidence as might be forthcoming. During the day Miss
Fouracres had telegraphed to the only relatives of whom she knew anything,
two sisters of her father, who kept a shop in London. Possibly one of them
might come to the funeral.

'Well,' said Mr. Ruddiman, in a comforting tone, 'all you have to do is to
keep quiet. Don't trouble about anything. I'll look after the business.'

Miss Fouracres smiled at him through her tears.

'It's very good of you, sir, but you make me feel ashamed. What sort of a
day have you had?'

'Splendid! Look here!'

He exhibited the day's receipts, a handful of cash, and, with delight
decently subdued, gave an account of all that had happened.

'I like this business!' he exclaimed. 'Don't you trouble about anything.
Leave it all to me, Miss Fouracres.'

One of the London aunts came down, and passed several days at the Pig and
Whistle. She was a dry, keen, elderly woman, chiefly interested in the
question of her deceased brother's property, which proved to be
insignificant enough. Meanwhile the inquest was held, and all the
countryside talked of Mr. Fouracres, whose story, of course, was published
in full detail by the newspapers. Once more opinions were divided as to
whether the hapless landlord really had or had not entertained His Royal
Highness. Plainly, Mr. Fouracres' presence in the grou