She was young not more than twenty-four at most, a frail wisp of a girl, with light brown hair and eyes that spoke for her nationality as plain as any words. She was neatly but by no means expensively dressed, and showed evident signs of being oppressed by a weight of trouble. Klimo looked at her, and in that glance took in everything. In spite of the fact that he was reputed to possess a heart as hard as any flint, it was noticeable that his voice, when he spoke to her was not as gruff as that in which he usually addressed his visitors. "Pray sit down," he said, "and tell me in as few words as possible what it is you desire that I should do for you. Speak as clearly as you can, and, it you want my help, don’t hesitate to tell me everything." The girl sat down as ordered, and immediately commenced her tale. "My name is Eileen Jeffreys," she said. "I am the wife of an English Bank Inspector, and the daughter of Septimus O’Grady, of Chicago, U.S.A." "I shall remember," replied Klimo. "And how long have you been married?" "Two years," answered the girl. "Two years next September. My husband and I met in America, and then came to England to settle." "In saying good-bye to your old home, you left your father behind, I presume?" "Yes, he preferred to remain in America." "May I ask his profession?" "That, I’m afraid, foolish as it may seem to say so, I cannot tell you," answered the girl, with a slightly heightened color. "His means of earning a living were always kept a secret from me." "That was rather strange; was it not?" said Klimo. "Had he private resources?" "None that I ever heard of," replied the girl. "Did no business men ever come to see him?" "But very few people came to us at all. We had scarcely any friends." "Of what nationality were the friends who did come?" "Mostly Irish, like ourselves," answered Mrs. Jeffreys. "Was there ever any quarrel between your father and your husband, prior to your leaving America?" "Never any downright quarrel," said the girl. "But I am sorry to say they were not always the best of friends. In those days my father was a very difficult man to get on with." "Indeed?" said Klimo. "Now, perhaps you had better proceed with your story." "To do that, I must explain that at the end of January of this present year, my father, who was then in Chicago, sent us a cablegram to say he was leaving for England that very day, and that, upon his arrival in England, if we had no objection, he would like to take up his residence with us. He was to sail from New York on the Saturday following, and, as you know, the passage takes six days or thereabouts. Arriving in England he came to London and put up at our house in Bellamer Street, Bloomsbury. That was during the first week in February last, and off and on he has been living with us ever since." "Have you any idea what brought him to England?"