The upper floor of the house was unfurnished and locked up, and an unfastened window on the ground floor, opening into the garden, suggested the way Mrs. Harrison had left. I took immediate steps to delay the publication of the news of the tragedy. There were points in the case which might modify first suspicions considerably, and a few hours of unhampered investigation might be of great value. Even a perfunctory search among Mrs. Jardine's papers proved that if she had not seen her nephew recently she had heard from him. I found two letters asking for money, a whine in them, and at the same time an underlying threat, as though the writer had it in his power to do mischief. Apparently Mrs. Jardine had a past which might account for her being a crank. A talk with her nephew should prove interesting. I went to the address given in the letters--a flat in Hammersmith--but it was not until next morning that I got an interview with Thomas Jardine. He was a big loose-limbed man, a gentleman come down in the world through dissipation. I told him I had come on behalf of Mrs. Jardine, and his first words showed that he was either an excellent actor or that the news of his aunt's death had not yet reached him. "If you are her business man and have brought me a check, you are welcome," he said. "I have not brought the check--at present." "Come, there's a hopeful tone about you," he returned, "and I'm hard up enough not to be particular or spiteful. Is the old girl willing to come to terms?" "I am in rather a difficult position," I answered, carefully feeling my way. "I want to do the best I can for both sides, and, as you are probably aware, Mrs. Jardine is not one to talk very fully, even to her man of business." "I warrant she has given you her version of the story." "But not yours. I should like to hear yours."