Brent, at that moment, was in a state of mind which made every fibre of his being particularly sensitive to suspicions and speculative ideas--he had no sooner slipped Mrs. Saumarez's note into his pocket than he began to wonder why she had sent for him? Of course, it had something to do with Wallingford's murder, but what? If Mrs. Saumarez knew anything, why did she not speak at the inquest? She had been present all through the proceedings. Brent had frequently turned his eyes on her; always he had seen her in the same watchful, keen-eyed attitude, apparently deeply absorbed in the evidence, and, it seemed to him, showing signs of a certain amount of anxiety. Anxiety--yes, that was it, anxiety. The other spectators were curious, morbidly curious, most of them, but Mrs. Saumarez he felt sure was anxious. And about what? He wondered, but wondering was no good. He must go and see her of course; and presently he made himself ready and set out. But as he crossed the hall of the hotel he encountered Tansley, who was just emerging from the smoking-room. A thought occurred to him, and he motioned Tansley back into the room he had just quitted, and led him to a quiet corner. "I say," said Brent, "between ourselves, I've just had a note from that Mrs. Saumarez we saw this morning in the Coroner's Court. She wants me to go round to her house at once." Tansley showed his interest. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "Then, she's something to tell." "Why to me?" demanded Brent. "You're Wallingford's next of kin," said the solicitor laconically. "That's why." "Wonder what it is?" muttered Brent. "Some feminine fancy maybe." "Go and find out, man!" laughed Tansley. "Just so," replied Brent. "I'm going now. But look here--who and what is this Mrs. Saumarez? Post me up." Tansley waved his cigar in the air, as if implying that you could draw a circle around his field of knowledge. "Oh, well," he said, "you saw her to-day. So you're already aware that she's young and pretty and charming--and all that. As for the rest, she's a widow, and a wealthy one. Relict, as we say in the law, of a naval officer of high rank, who, I fancy, was some years older than herself. She came here about two years ago and rents a picturesque old place that was built, long since, out of the ruins of the old Benedictine Abbey that used to stand at the rear of what's now called Abbey Gate--some of the ruins, as you know, are still there. Clever woman--reads a lot and all that sort of thing. Not at all a society woman, in spite of her prettiness--bit of a blue-stocking, I fancy. Scarcely know her myself." "I think you said my cousin knew her?" suggested Brent.