y on an easy
chair, sprang up barking shrilly at their entrance, but at the command of
the girl it settled down on its silk cushion again. The apartment was a
small sitting-room, daintily furnished in excellent feminine taste. Both
police officers took in the contents of the room with the glance of
trained observers, and both noticed that, prominent among the ornaments
on the mantelpiece, stood a photograph of the late Sir Horace Fewbanks in
a handsome silver frame.

The photograph made it easy for Inspector Chippenfield to enter upon the
object of the visit of himself and his subordinate to the flat.

"I see you have a photograph of Sir Horace Fewbanks there," he said, in
what he intended to be an easy conversational tone, waving his hand
towards the mantelpiece.

The wistful expression of the girl's face deepened as she followed
his glance.

"Yes," she said simply. "It is so terrible about him."

"Was he a--a relative of yours?" asked the inspector.

She had come to the conclusion they were police officers and that they
were aware of the position she occupied.

"He was very kind to me," she replied.

"When did you see him last? How long before he--before he died?"

"Are you detectives?" she asked.

"From Scotland Yard," replied Inspector Chippenfield with a bow.

"Why have you come here? Do you think that I--that I know anything about
the murder?"

"Not in the least." The inspector's tone was reassuring. "We merely want
information about Sir Horace's movements prior to his departure for
Scotland. When did you see him last?"

"I don't remember," she said, after a pause.

"You must try," said the inspector, in a tone which contained a
suggestion of command.

"Oh, a few days before he went away."

"A few days," repeated the inspector. "And you parted on good terms?"

"Yes, on very good terms." She met his glance frankly.

Inspector Chippenfield was silent for a moment. Then, fixing his fiercest
stare on the girl, he remarked abruptly:

"Where's Birchill?"

"Birchill?" She endeavoured to appear surprised, but her sudden
pallor betrayed her inward anxiety at the question. "I--I don't know
who you mean."

"I mean the man you've been keeping with Sir Horace Fewbanks's money,"
said the inspector brutally.

"I've been keeping nobody with Sir Horace Fewbanks's money," protested
the girl feebly. "It's cruel of you to insult me."

"That'll about do to go on with," said Inspector Chippenfield, with a