“I don't wonder. So restful and sunny. I don't see how they could have brought themselves to part with it.” Now it is one of the most constant peculiarities of the English that in polite conversation--and I had striven to be polite--no one ever does or sells anything for mere money's sake. “Miss Agnes--the youngest--fell ill” (he spaced his words a little), “and, as they were very much attached to each other, that broke up the home.” “Naturally. I fancied it must have been something of that kind. One doesn't associate the Staffordshire Moultries” (my Demon of Irresponsibility at that instant created 'em), “with--with being hard up.” “I don't know whether we're related to them,” he answered importantly. “We may be, for our branch of the family comes from the Midlands.” I give this talk at length, because I am so proud of my first attempt at detective work. When I left him, twenty minutes later, with instructions to move against the owner of Holmescroft, with a view to purchase, I was more bewildered than any Doctor Watson at the opening of a story. Why should a middle-aged solicitor turn plovers' egg colour and drop his jaw when reminded of so innocent and festal a matter as that no death had ever occurred in a house that he had sold? If I knew my English vocabulary at all, the tone in which he said the youngest sister “fell ill” meant that she had gone out of her mind. That might explain his change of countenance, and it was just possible that her demented influence still hung about Holmescroft; but the rest was beyond me. I was relieved when I reached M'Leod's City office, and could tell him what I had done--not what I thought. M'Leod was quite willing to enter into the game of the pretended purchase, but did not see how it would help if I knew Baxter. “He's the only living soul I can get at who was connected with Holmescroft,” I said. “Ah! Living soul is good,” said M'Leod. “At any rate our little girl will be pleased that you are still interested in us. Won't you come down some day this week?” “How is it there now?” I asked. He screwed up his face. “Simply frightful!” he said. “Thea is at Droitwich.” “I should like it immensely, but I must cultivate Baxter for the present. You'll be sure and keep him busy your end, won't you?” He looked at me with quiet contempt. “Do not be afraid. I shall be a good Jew. I shall be my own solicitor.”