There was blood on the mat in the hall, blood in the tiny lobby. He came back to where the girl was lying and sniffed. There was no smell of cordite, and having seen the body, he was not surprised. “Now, my dear.” She sat up again. “I am not a police officer; I am a--er--a gentleman called in by your friend, Mr. Wentford--your late friend,” he corrected himself, “to do something--I know not what! He called me by ’phone; I gave him my--um--terms, but he offered me no reason why he was sending for me. You, as his secretary, may perhaps----” She shook her head. “I don’t know. He had never mentioned you before he spoke to me on the telephone.” “I am not a policeman,” said Mr. Reeder again, and his voice was very gentle; “therefore, my dear, you need have few qualms about telling me the truth, because these gentlemen, when they come, these very active and intelligent men, will probably discover all that I have seen, even if I did not tell them. Who was the man who went out of this house when I knocked at the door?” Her face was deathly pale, but she did not flinch. He wondered if she was as pretty when she was not so pale. Mr. Reeder wondered all sorts of queer little things like that; his mind could never stagnate. “There was nobody--in this house--since I have been here----” Mr. Reeder did not press her. He sighed, closed his eyes, shook his head, shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a great pity,” he said. “Can you tell me anything about Mr. Wentford?” “No,” she said in a low voice. “He was my uncle. I think you ought to know that. He didn’t want anybody to know, but that must come out. He has been very good to us--he sent my mother abroad; she is an invalid. I conducted his business.” All this very jerkily. “Have you been here often?” She shook her head. “Not often,” she said. “We usually met somewhere by appointment, generally in a lonely place where one wouldn’t be likely to meet anybody who knew us. He was very shy of strangers, and he didn’t like anybody coming here.” “Did he ever entertain friends here?” “No.” She was very emphatic. “I’m sure he didn’t. The only person he ever saw was the police patrol, the mounted man who rides this beat. Uncle used to make him coffee every night. I think it was for the company--he told me he felt lonely at nights. The policeman kept an eye on him. There are two--Constable Steele and Constable Verity. My uncle always sent them a turkey at Christmas. Whoever was on duty used to ride up here. I was here late one night, and the constable escorted me to Bourne End.” The telephone was in the bedroom. Mr. Reeder remembered he had promised to ’phone. He got through to a police station and asked a few questions. When he got back, he found the girl by the window, looking between the curtains.