“May I take you to my drawing-room, madam?” said Crossley, bowing to Lady Georgina. He opened a door on one side of the hall as he spoke, and ushered Lady Georgina into a small room, furnished in the ordinary style of a drawing-room of that class of house. There was a centre table on which some newspapers and one or two gaudily-bound books were placed. A paraffin lamp stood in the centre of the table, a bright fire burned in the grate; an easy-chair of old-fashioned make stood beside the fire. “I shall do well here,” said Lady Georgina. “Do not pray give me another thought, only let me know when you have quite done with Mrs. Rowton.” “One word, madam,” said Crossley, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I count it a providential arrangement that you are with the young lady. I have sore tidings for her. Heaven knows she will need help.” There was a note in the detective’s voice which startled Lady Georgina, who was not a woman affected by nerves. She made no reply, however, beyond an emphatic nod of her head. The detective left the room, closing the door behind him. He took Nance at once into his private study, and motioned her to a chair. She loosened her cloak, but did not sit. “I prefer to stand,” she said. “I want, Mr. Crossley, to learn your tidings at once and without preface.” She fixed her eyes on him as she spoke. “How will she bear it?” thought the detective to himself. “I wish I had never gone into this business. Who would have thought that it would have come out as it has? Poor young lady, I cannot bear to meet her eyes.” “You have prepared me for something very dreadful,” said Nance; “but please understand it is not the news itself, but the suspense which is really killing me. Speak! tell me what you have discovered.” “I have very grave tidings, Mrs. Rowton,” said the man. “It is impossible for me to tell them you in half a dozen words. You have got to listen to a certain story. Believe me, I will not keep you in suspense a minute longer than I can help.” “Begin, then,” said Nance. A chair was standing near. She caught the back of it with one trembling hand, and stood very upright, facing the detective, who placed himself on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire. “I believe,” said Crossley, in a low but very firm voice, “that I have at last found the man who murdered your brother.” “I thought as much,” said Nance. She spoke faintly. “His name?” she said then after a pause. “I will come to the name in a few minutes, madam. I have, I believe, found the man. You remember when I visited you at the Heights about two months ago that I then spoke of certain suspicions?” “You did. Pardon me, why must we go into that? Can you not put me out of suspense at once?” “I must tell my story in my own way, Mrs. Rowton. Believe me, my task is no easy one.” “I will have patience,” said Nance. “I beg you to forgive me for showing want of self-control.”