Who was she expecting to see, wondered Tarling, and why did she check herself? Was it possible that she had not heard of the murder? He determined to test her. "Your daughter is probably detained in town owing to Mr. Lyne's death," he said, watching her closely. She started and went white. "Mr. Lyne's death?" she stammered. "Has he died? That young man?" "He was murdered in Hyde Park yesterday morning," said Tarling, and she staggered back and collapsed into a chair. "Murdered! Murdered!" she whispered. "Oh, God! Not that, not that!" Her face was ashen white, and she was shaking in every limb, this stately woman who had walked so serenely into the drawing-room a few minutes before. Presently she covered her face with her hands and began to weep softly and Tarling waited. "Did you know Mr. Lyne?" he asked after a while. She shook her head. "Have you heard any stories about Mr. Lyne?" She looked up. "None," she said listlessly, "except that he was--not a very nice man." "Forgive me asking you, but are you very much interested--" He hesitated, and she lifted her head. He did not know how to put this question into words. It puzzled him that the daughter of this woman, who was evidently well off, should be engaged in a more or less humble capacity in Lyne's Store. He wanted to know whether she knew that the girl had been dismissed, and whether that made much difference to her. Then again, his conversation with Odette Rider had not led him to the conclusion that she could afford to throw up her work. She spoke of finding another job, and that did not sound as though her mother was in a good position. "Is there any necessity for your daughter working for a living?" he asked bluntly, and she dropped her eyes. "It is her wish," she said in a low voice. "She does not get on with people about here," she added hastily. There was a brief silence, then he rose and offered his hand. "I do hope I haven't worried you with my questions," he said, "and I daresay you wonder why I have come. I will tell you candidly that I am engaged in investigating this murder, and I was hoping to hear that your daughter, in common with the other people who were brought into contact with Mr. Lyne, might give me some thread of a clue which would lead to more important things." "A detective?" she asked, and he could have sworn there was horror in her eyes. "A sort of detective," he laughed, "but not a formidable one, I hope, Mrs. Rider." She saw him to the door, and watched him as he disappeared down the drive; then walked slowly back to the room and stood against the marble mantelpiece, her head upon her arms, weeping softly. Jack Tarling left Hertford more confused than ever. He had instructed the fly driver to wait for him at the gates, and this worthy he proceeded to pump.