"Beg pardon, miss," said the sergeant, who was obviously anything but pleased with his task. "But it's like this, d'you see?--your father, now, does he happen to be at home?" "What is it you want?" she asked. And beginning a glance of inquiry at the sergeant she finished it at Bent. "Has something happened, Mr. Bent?" she went on. "If you want my father, and he's not in, then I don't know where he is--he went out early in the evening, and he hadn't returned when I left the house an hour ago." "I daresay it's nothing," replied Bent. "But the fact is that something has happened. Your neighbour at the other end of the wood--old Mr. Kitely, you know--he's been found dead." Brereton, closely watching the girl, saw that this conveyed nothing to her, beyond the mere announcement. She moved towards the door of the cottage, taking a key from her muff. "Yes?" she said. "And--I suppose you want my father to help? He may be in--he may have gone to bed." She unlocked the door, walked into the open living-room, and turning up a lamp which stood on the table, glanced around her. "No," she continued. "He's not come in--so----" "Better tell her, Mr. Bent," whispered the sergeant. "No use keeping it back, sir--she'll have to know." "The fact is," said Bent, "Mr. Kitely--we're afraid--has been murdered." The girl turned sharply at that; her eyes dilated, and a brighter tinge of colour came into her cheeks. "Murdered!" she exclaimed. "Shot?" Her eyes went past Bent to a corner of the room, and Brereton, following them, saw that there stood a gun, placed amongst a pile of fishing-rods and similar sporting implements. Her glance rested on it for only the fraction of a second; then it went back to Bent's face. "I'd better tell you everything," said Bent quietly. "Mr. Kitely has been strangled. And the piece of cord with which it was done is--so the police here say--just such a piece as might have been cut off one of the cords which your father uses in his trade, you know." "We aren't suggesting aught, you know, Miss Avice," remarked the sergeant. "Don't go for to think that--at present. But, you see, Harborough, he might have one o' those cords hanging about somewhere, and--do you understand?" The girl had become very quiet, looking steadily from one man to the other. Once more her eyes settled on Bent. "Do you know why Kitely was killed?" she asked suddenly. "Have you seen any reason for it?" "He had been robbed, after his death," answered Bent. "That seems absolutely certain." "Whatever you may say, you've got some suspicion about my father," she remarked after a pause. "Well--all I can say is, my father has no need to rob anybody--far from it, if you want the truth. But what do you want?" she continued, a little impatiently. "My father isn't in, and I don't know where he is--often he is out all night." "If we could just look round his shed, now?" said the sergeant. "Just to see if aught's missing, like, you know. You see, miss----"