“This will mean a lot to Cynthia,” he said warmly. “And I should like to thank you on her behalf. As for myself, I entirely agree with you; but, as you know, we may have to convince people who do not know Leslie, and, however strongly we may feel ourselves on the subject, we have no real proof to offer. Frankly, I came here in the hope that you might have some evidence that would help us. You say you are practically certain that Leslie never knew your sister. Is this only conjecture?” “Mr. Leslie told me himself that he had never met her when I spoke to him about her visit to me; but that, I suppose,” she went on with a rather grim smile, “is hardly sufficient for you lawyers! But, as a matter of fact, by sheer luck, my sister happened to pick up a snapshot of Cynthia and Mr. Leslie the morning she arrived. She recognized Cynthia from a photograph she had seen in some paper and asked who the attractive boy was with her. When I told her his name she said she had heard him spoken of at Staveley, but had never met him. Now, if what these idiots seem to suspect were true, John Leslie might have his reasons for keeping their acquaintance dark, but my sister could have had no objection to saying she knew him. Besides, from her manner, I am sure she did not recognize the photograph.” “Could you let me have this snapshot, Miss Allen?” “It is on the mantelpiece behind you. Keep it, if you think it will be of any use.” “You will forgive me if I seem insistent,” he went on. “But, as you know, this is a very serious matter for Leslie. Can you think of any one, in the past, who might possibly have harboured a grudge against your sister?” Miss Allen hesitated, her clear eyes very troubled. “I’d better be frank with you,” she said at last. “You’ll probably think what I am about to say almost indecent, but I’ve never shirked the truth in my life and I want to leave no stone unturned to help that boy. You met my sister at Staveley, I believe, Sir Edward, and I think you will understand what I am trying to tell you. You may not know that she was divorced by her first husband and would have been divorced by her second if he had not died in the nick of time. It isn’t pleasant for me to say this and I hope it need not go any further, but that is the kind of woman she was. I don’t judge her, and I suppose it was largely a matter of temperament. She was spoiled, too, as a child. But she was a woman who was bound to have enemies, both male and female, and she had some queer friends, too. If her first husband were not dead I should have been very much inclined to put this down to him. He went to pieces, altogether, after she left him, and became just the kind of half-mad, reckless creature that might end in the dock. Thank goodness, he is out of it, but she has made many friends and many enemies since his day.” “You know of no one in particular?” pressed Kean eagerly. “Is there nothing she said, at any time, that would suggest any one?”