For the first time in her life Helen was taking a definite and important step without her father's knowledge. The matter was one which had caused her infinite thought and many heart searchings. The burden of Rachel Kynaston's dying words had fallen upon her alone. There seemed to be no escape from it. She must act, and must act for herself. Any sort of appeal to her father for help was out of the question. She knew beforehand exactly what his view of the matter would be. In all things concerning her sex he was of that ancient school which reckoned helplessness and inaction the chief and necessary qualities of women outside the domestic circle. He might himself have made some move in the matter, but it would have been half hearted and under protest. She knew exactly what his point of view would be. Rachel Kynaston had been excited by a fancied wrong—her last words were uttered in a veritable delirium! She could not part with the responsibility. The shadow of it lay upon her, and her alone. She must act herself or not at all. She must act herself, and without her father's knowledge, or be false to the charge laid upon her by a dying woman. So with a heavy heart she had accepted what seemed to her to be the inevitable.

She was shown at once into the inner sanctuary of Messrs. Levy & Son. Her first glance around, nervous though she was, was comprehensive. She saw a plainly but not ill-furnished office, the chief feature of which was its gloom. Seated in an easy chair was a little old gentleman with white hair, who rose to receive her, and a little farther away was a younger man who was writing busily, and who did not even glance up at her entrance. Although it was not a particularly dark morning, the narrowness of the street and the small dusty windows seemed effectually to keep out the light, and a jet of gas was burning.

Mr. Levy bowed to his visitor, and offered her a chair.

"Miss Thurwell, I presume," he said in his best manner.

The lady bowed without lifting her veil, which, though short, was a thick one.

"We received a letter from you this morning," he continued.

"Yes; I have called about it."

She hesitated. The commencement was very difficult. After all, had she done wisely in coming here? Was it not all a mistake? Had she not better leave the thing to the proper authorities, and content herself with offering a reward? She had half a mind to declare that her visit was an error, and make her escape.

It was at this point that the tact of the junior member of the firm asserted itself. Quietly laying down his pen, he turned toward her, and spoke for the first time.

"We gathered from your letter, Miss Thurwell, that you desired to consult us concerning the murder of Sir Geoffrey Kynaston."

Helen was surprised into assenting, and before she could qualify her words, Mr. Benjamin had taken the case in hand.

"Exactly. Now, Miss Thurwell, we have had some very delicate and very difficult business confided to us at different times, and I may say, without boasting, that we have been remarkably successful. I may so, father, may I not?"

"Most decidedly, Benjamin. There was Mr. Morris's jewels, you know."

"And Mr. Hadson's son."

"And that little affair with Captain Trescott and Bella B——"

Mr. Benjamin dropped the ruler, which he had been idly balancing on his forefinger, with a crash, and shot a warning glance across at his father.

"Miss Thurwell will not be interested in the details of our business," he remarked. "Our reputation is doubtless known to her."

Considering what the reputation of Messrs. Levy & Son really was, this last remark was a magnificent piece of cool impudence. Even Mr. Levy could not refrain from casting a quick glance of admiration at his junior, who remained perfectly unmoved.

"What I was about to remark, Miss Thurwell, was simply this. The chief cause of our success has been that we have induced our clients at the outset to give us their whole confidence. We lay great stress on this. Everything that we are told in the way of business we consider absolutely secret. But we like to know everything."

"I shall keep nothing back from you," she said quietly. "I have nothing to conceal."

Mr. Benjamin nodded approval.

"Then, in order that the confidence between us may be complete, let me ask you this question, Why have you brought this matter to us, instead of leaving it to the ordinary authorities?"

Helen Thurwell lifted her veil for the first time, and looked at the young man who was questioning her. Mr. Benjamin Levy, as a young man of fashion, was an ape and a fool. Mr. Benjamin Levy, taking the lead in a piece of business after his own heart, was as shrewd a young man as you could meet with. Looking him steadily in the face, and noticing his keen dark eyes and closely drawn lips, she began for the first time to think that, after all, she might have done a wise thing in coming here.

"The ordinary authorities have had the matter in hand two months, and they have done nothing," she answered. "I am very anxious that it should be cleared up, and I am naturally beginning to lose faith in them. They have so many other things to attend to. Now, if I paid you well, I suppose you would give your whole time to the matter."

"Undoubtedly," assented Mr. Levy, senior, gravely.

"Undoubtedly," echoed his son. "I am quite satisfied, Miss Thurwell, and I thank you for your candor."

"I suppose you will want me to tell you all about it," she said, with a faint shudder.

"Not unless you know something fresh. I have every particular in my head that has been published."

Helen looked surprised.

"You read all about it, I suppose?" she asked.

"Yes; such things interest us, naturally. This one did me particularly, because, from the first, I saw that the police were on the wrong tack."

"What is your idea about it, then?" she asked.

"Simply this," he answered, turning round and facing her for the first time. "All the time and trouble spent in scouring the country and watching the ports and railway stations was completely wasted. The murder was not committed by an outsider at all. The first thing I shall want, when we begin to work this, is the name and address of all the people living within a mile or two of the scene of the murder, and then every possible particular concerning Mr. Bernard Brown, of Falcon's Nest."

She could not help a slight start. And from his looking at her now for the first time so fixedly, and from the abrupt manner in which he had brought out the latter part of his sentence, she knew that he was trying her.

"There is one more question, too, Miss Thurwell, which I must ask you, and it is a very important one," he continued, still looking at her. "Do you suspect any one?"

She answered him without hesitation.

"I do."

Mr. Levy, senior, stirred in his chair, and leaned forward eagerly. Mr. Benjamin remained perfectly unmoved.

"And who is it?" he asked.

"Mr. Brown."

Mr. Benjamin looked away and made a note. If she could have seen it, Helen would certainly have been surprised. For, though her voice was low, she had schooled herself to go through her task without agitation. Yet, here was the note.

"Query: Connection between Mr. Brown and Miss T. Showed great agitation in announcing suspicion."

"Do you mind telling us your reasons?" he went on.

She repeated them after the manner of one who has learned a lesson.

"Mr. Brown came to our part of the country just at the time that Sir Geoffrey came from abroad. They had met before, and there was some cause of enmity between them——"

"Stop! How do you know that?" Mr. Benjamin interrupted quickly.

She told him of Mr. Brown's admission to her, and of the tragedy of Rachel Kynaston's last words. He seemed to know something of this too.

"Any other reason?"

"He seemed agitated when he came out from the cottage, after the crime was discovered. From its situation he could easily have committed the murder and regained it unseen. It would have been infinitely easier for him to have done it than anyone else."

Mr. Benjamin looked at his father, and his father looked at him.

"Can you tell me anything at all of his antecedents?" he continued.

She shook her head.

"We knew nothing about him when he came. He never talked about himself."

"But he was your father's tenant, was he not?"

"Yes."

"Then he gave you some references, I suppose?"

"Only his bankers and his lawyers."

"Do you remember those?"

"Yes. The bankers were Gregsons, and the lawyer's name was Cuthbert."

Mr. Benjamin made a note of both.

"There is nothing more which it occurs to you to tell us, Miss Thurwell?" he asked.

"There is one circumstance which seemed to me at the time suspicious," she said slowly. "It was after the body had been carried to Mr. Brown's house, and I was waiting for my father there. I think I must have suspected Mr. Brown then, in a lesser degree, for I took the opportunity of being alone to look into his sitting room. It was rather a mean thing to do," she added hurriedly, "but I was a little excited at the notion of his guilt, and I felt that I would do anything to help to bring the truth to light."

"It was very natural," interposed Mr. Levy, senior, who had been watching for some time for the opportunity of getting a word in. "Very natural, indeed."

His son took no notice of the interruption, and Helen continued.

"What I saw may be of no consequence, but I will just tell you what it was, and what it suggested to me. The window was open, and the leaves of a laurel shrub just outside were dripping with wet. A little way in the room was an empty basin, and on the floor by the side was a pile of books. They might have been there by accident, but it seemed to me as if they had been purposely placed there to hide something—possibly a stain on the floor. Before I could move any of them to see, I was disturbed."

"By Mr. Brown?"

"By Mr. Brown and Sir Allan Beaumerville."

"Did you gather from his appearance that he was alarmed at finding you there?"

Helen shook her head.

"No. He was surprised, certainly, but that was natural. I cannot say that he looked alarmed."

Mr. Benjamin put away his notes and turned round on his stool.

"A word or two with regard to the business part of this matter, Miss Thurwell. Are you prepared to spend a good deal of money?"

"If it is necessary, yes."

"Very good. Then I will give you a sketch of my plans. We have agents in Paris, Vienna, Venice, and other towns, whom I shall at once employ in tracing out Sir Geoffrey Kynaston's life abroad, concerning which I already have some useful information. During the rest of the day I shall make inquiries about Mr. Brown in London. To-morrow I shall be prepared to come down to Thurwell in any capacity you suggest."

"If you know anything of auditing," she said, "you can come down and go through the books of the estate at the Court. I can arrange that."

"It will do admirably. These are my plans, then. We shall require from you, Miss Thurwell, two hundred guineas to send abroad, and forty guineas a week for the services of my father and myself and our staff. If in twelve months we have not succeeded, we will engage to return you twenty-five per cent of this amount. If, on the other hand, we have brought home the crime to the murderer, we shall ask you for a further five hundred. Will you agree to these terms?"

"Yes."

Mr. Benjamin stretched out his hand for a piece of writing paper, and made a memorandum.

"Perhaps you would be so good as to sign this, then?" he said, passing it to her.

She took the pen, and wrote her name at the bottom. Then she rose to go.

"There is nothing more?" she said.

"Nothing except your London address," he reminded her.

"I am staying with my aunt, Lady Thurwell, at No. 8, Cadogan Square."

"Can I call and see you to-morrow morning there?"

She hesitated. After all, why not. She had put her hand to the plow, and she must go on with it.

"Yes," she answered; "as the auditor who is going to Thurwell Court."

He bowed, and held the door open for her.

"That is understood, of course. Good morning, Miss Thurwell."

She was standing quite still on the threshold, as if lost in thought for a moment. Suddenly she looked up at him with a bright spot of color glowing in her cheeks.

"Let me ask you a question, Mr. Levy."

"Certainly."

"You have read the account of this—terrible thing, and you have heard all I can tell you. Doubtless you have formed some idea concerning it. Would you mind telling it to me?"

Mr. Benjamin kept his keen black eyes fixed steadily upon her while he answered the question, as though he were curious to see what effect it would have on her.

"Certainly, Miss Thurwell. I think that the gentleman calling himself Mr. Brown will find himself in the murderer's dock before a month is out."

She shuddered slightly, and turned away.

"Thank you. Good morning."

"Good morning, Miss Thurwell."

She was gone, and as the sound of her departing cab became lost in the din of the traffic outside, a remarkable change took place in the demeanor of Mr. Benjamin Levy. His constrained, almost polished manner disappeared. His small, deep-set eyes sparkled with exultation, and all his natural vulgarity reasserted itself.

"What do you think of that, guv'nor, eh?" he cried, patting him gently on the shoulder. "Good biz, eh?"

"Benjamin, my son," returned the old man, with emotion, "our fortune is made. You are a jewel of a son."