Next day Gervase Henshaw made his expected reappearance in Branchester. He left his luggage at the Golden Lion and then went off to the police-station where he had a long interview with the chief constable. Mindful of his promise to Edith Morriston, Hugh Gifford kept about the town with the object of coming across Henshaw and getting to know, if possible, something of his intentions. The attraction he had, even from their first introduction, felt towards Miss Morriston had become quickly intensified by their strangely confidential talk on the previous evening. So far she was to him something of a puzzle, but a puzzle of the most fascinating kind. It was, perhaps, strangely unaccountable that she should have chosen to invoke his help who was little more than a casual acquaintance; still, he argued as he reviewed the situation, she had probably been drawn to him as the one man on the spot who was likely to be of use to them. Her brother, a good, sensible fellow of some character, was nevertheless an ordinary country gentleman, given up to sport of all kinds and naturally quite unversed in the subtleties of life and character which can be studied only by those who live in the more intellectual atmosphere of cities. The same judgment would apply to his friend Kelson, a chivalrous sportsman, who would unselfishly do anything in his power to be of help, but whose ability and penetration by no means matched his willingness. And probably these men were types of the bulk of the Morristons' friends and acquaintances, at any rate of those who were immediately available. Consequently, Gifford concluded, it had been to himself she had turned in this trouble, influenced no doubt by the idea that a Londoner with legal training and experience of the world in its many aspects would be the best man she could enlist to help her. That her confidence had been drawn by any particular personal liking he never for one moment admitted; that unfortunately was so far all on one side, whatever hopes the future might hold out to him. Anyhow he blessed his luck that an accident had so quickly broken the ice and established a state of confidential relationship between them. As to there being an adequate reason for alarm Gifford was not inclined to question, since he quite realized that this man Henshaw might easily constitute himself a grave annoyance to the Morristons. A clever girl like Edith Morriston, more sensitive than to a casual observer would appear, had naturally recognized this danger and was anxious to have the man, with his, perhaps, none too scrupulous methods, held in check; and to this service Gifford was only too happy to devote himself, glad beyond measure that the opportunity had been given him by the girl who had filled his thoughts.

It was not until evening that he came across Henshaw, it being to his mind essential not to appear anxious or to seek out the criminologist with the obvious view of getting information as to his plans.

"So you are back again, Mr. Henshaw," he said with a careless nod of greeting as they encountered in the hall of the hotel. "I hear the police have not yet arrived at any satisfactory conclusion."

Henshaw drew back his lips in a slight smile. To Gifford the expression was an ugly one, and he wondered what it portended.

"There is a likelihood of our not being at a loss much longer," Henshaw replied, speaking through his teeth with a certain grim satisfaction.

"What, you have made a discovery?" Gifford exclaimed.

Henshaw's face hardened. "I am not yet at liberty to say what I have found," he returned in an uncompromising tone. "But I think you may take it from me as absolutely certain that my brother did not take his own life."

With pursed lips Gifford nodded acceptance of the statement. "That makes the affair look serious, not to say sensational," he responded. "I suppose one must not ask you whether you have a clue to the perpetrator."

"No, I can hardly say that yet," Henshaw answered with a rather cunning look. "You, as one of our profession, Mr. Gifford, will understand that and the unwisdom of premature statements."

"Certainly I do," Gifford agreed promptly. "And am quite content to restrain my curiosity till I get information from the papers."

Henshaw laughed intriguingly. "There are certain things that don't find their way into the Press," he said meaningly. "The real story in this case may turn out to be one of them."

Eager as he was, Gifford resolved to show no further curiosity. "You know best," he rejoined almost casually. "But I hope for the Morristons' sake the mystery will be soon satisfactorily cleared up."

There was a peculiar glitter in Henshaw's eyes as he replied, "No doubt they are anxious."

"Naturally. They are getting rather worried by all this police fuss."

"Naturally." Henshaw repeated Gifford's word with a curious emphasis. "It is unfortunate for them," he added. "But all the same it is imperative that the manner of my brother's death should be thoroughly investigated."

He nodded, and as unwilling to discuss the matter further, opened a newspaper and turned away.

About noon next day Gifford went with Kelson to Wynford Place. They had seen nothing more of Henshaw who, it seemed, was rather inclined to hold away from them, possibly with a view to avoiding an opportunity of discussing the affair, or because he was occupied in following up some clue he had, or thought he had, got hold of. This was naturally a disappointment to Gifford, who was anxious, on Miss Morriston's behalf, to keep himself posted as to Henshaw's intentions.

"Of course," said Kelson, "the fellow will have heard of the stains found on Muriel's dress, and will set himself to make the most of that discovery. I only hope he won't take to worrying her. She is quite enough upset about it without that."

"Doubtless that is why he is keeping away from us," Gifford observed. "He probably has heard of your engagement."

"And has the decency to see that he cannot very well discuss the matter with us," Kelson added.

On their arrival at Wynford Place Morriston told them that Gervase Henshaw was there with a detective in the room of the tragedy. "There is a decided improvement in his manner to-day," he said with a laugh. "He has been quite considerate and apologetic; so much so that I think I shall have to ask him to stay to luncheon; it seems rather churlish in the circumstances not to do so when the man is actually in the house on what should be to him a very sad business. But you fellows must stay too, to take off some of the strain."

They accepted; Gifford not sorry, for more reasons than one, to stay.

He presently took an opportunity of joining Edith Morriston in the garden.

"I have been keeping a look-out for Mr. Henshaw," he said, as they strolled off down a secluded walk, "but so far have had a chance of speaking to him only once, when I ran across him in the hotel."

"Yes?" she responded, with a scarcely concealed curiosity to hear what had passed.

"He has evidently got hold of some clue, or at least thinks he has," Gifford proceeded. "But what it is he did not tell me. In fact he rather declined to discuss the affair. I fancy he had had a long consultation with the police authorities."

"And he would tell you nothing?"

"Nothing. I rather expected he might have come, as before, to discuss the case with us, but he has made a point of keeping away. I hear, however, from your brother that he seems far less objectionable this time."

Somewhat to Gifford's surprise, she gave a rather grudging assent. "Yes, I suppose he is. I happened to see him on his arrival, and he certainly was polite enough, but it is possible to be even objectionably polite."

Gifford glanced at her curiously, wondering what had taken place to call forth the remark. "I know that," he said. "I do hope the man has not annoyed you. From what your brother told us—"

"Oh, no," she interrupted, "I can't say he has annoyed me—from his point of view." She laughed. "The man tried to be particularly agreeable, I think."

"And succeeded in being the reverse," Gifford added. "I can quite understand. Still, it might be worse."

"Oh, yes," she agreed in a tone which did nothing to abate his curiosity.

The luncheon bell rang out and they turned.

"I haven't thanked you for looking after our interests, Mr. Gifford," the girl said.

"I have unfortunately been able to do nothing," he replied deprecatingly.

"But you have tried," she rejoined graciously, "and it is not your fault if you have not succeeded. It is a comfort to think that we have a friend at hand ready to help us if need be, and I am most grateful."

The unusual feeling in her tone thrilled him.

"I should love to do something worthy of your gratitude," he responded, in a subdued tone.

"You take a lower view of your service than I do," she rejoined as they reached the house, and no more could be said.

At luncheon the improvement which their host had mentioned in Henshaw's attitude was strikingly apparent. His dogmatic self-assertiveness which had before been found so irritating was laid aside; his manner was subdued, his tone was sympathetic as he apologized for all the annoyance to which his host and hostess were being put. Gifford, watching him alertly, wondered at the change, and more particularly at its cause, which set him speculating. What did it portend? It seemed as though the complete alteration in the man's attitude and manner might indicate that he had got the solution of the mystery, and no longer had that problem to worry him. Certainly there was little to find fault with in him to-day.

One thing, however, Gifford did not like, and that was Henshaw's rather obvious admiration for Edith Morriston. When they took their places at table, she had motioned to Gifford to sit beside her, and from that position it gradually forced itself upon his notice that Henshaw scarcely took his eyes off his hostess, addressing most of his conversation, and he was a fluent talker, to her. It was, of course, scarcely to be wondered at that this handsome, capable girl should call forth any man's admiration. Gifford himself was indeed beginning to fall desperately in love with her, but this naturally made Henshaw's rather obvious prepossession none the less disagreeable to him. This, then, he reflected, was the explanation of what Miss Morriston had hinted at, what she had described as his objectionable excess of politeness at their meeting that morning. Happily, however, Gifford felt secure in his position as her accredited ally and in her expressed dislike to the man whom it seemed she had unwittingly fascinated. It was indeed unthinkable that this splendid, high-bred girl could ever be responsive to the advances of this unpleasantly sharp, rather underbred man, and he was a little surprised that she could respond to his remarks quite so genially, with more graciousness indeed than even her position as hostess called forth.

He could not quite reconcile it with the way she had spoken of him previously; but then he told himself that he was making too much of the business, and saw what was mere politeness through the magnifying glasses of jealousy. And so, secure in his position, he proceeded to view Henshaw's attempts to ingratiate himself with an amused equanimity.