“Mr. Poole,” she said, when Golpin had disappeared, “I’m going to ask you for another favour. Will you leave my brother alone tonight? You won’t get anything more out of him; I haven’t myself—anything really useful—and I terribly want him not to be more upset. I’m going to find out more as soon as ever I can, and if you will leave him alone now, I give you my word of honour that I will tell you everything I find out—_everything_, even if it doesn’t look well for him. Will you trust me?” Poole looked at her. He was taking a big risk if anything went wrong now—if the man slipped away, unquestioned. But he felt absolutely certain that the girl was straight and meant what she said. He nodded his head. “All right,” he said with a smile. Then, remembering his position, added more formally: “Very well, Miss Fratten, I will do what you ask.” CHAPTER XII “Breath of Eden” When Inez left the detective on the first occasion, she found her brother, where she had left him, in her own sitting-room, hunched up in an arm-chair and staring gloomily at the fire. If environment has the effect upon human spirits with which it is now popularly credited, there was no excuse for the expression on Ryland’s face—Inez’ room was as cheerful as any London room in November can possibly be. The walls and ceilings were painted in three shades of peach, the floor covered with a thick carpet of chestnut brown. The small Heal sofa, and two arm-chairs, were upholstered in an old-fashioned cretonne, with cushions of green and brown loosely flung in unsymmetrical profusion. A rosewood baby-grand piano, a sofa-table, acting now as a writing-table, a small china cabinet, two or three delicate Sheraton chairs and old tray tables, and a walnut fire stool completed the furniture of the room. Over the mantelpiece hung a Chippendale mirror, while a pair of exquisite girandoles and two coloured Bartolozzi engravings were the only other ornaments on the walls. Vases of chrysanthemums and autumn foliage, Florentine candle-lamps, and a brisk coal and wood fire gave the finishing touches to a very charming effect. Inez herself, in a dark grey georgette which made a perfect background for a single string of exquisitely graded pearls, was very far from detracting from the beauty of her surroundings as she slipped on to the arm of the chair beside her brother. Her beauty was only enhanced by the sombre colour of her clothes and her face now showed none of the anxiety which her interview with the detective must have engendered. “Ry,” she said softly, while her fingers gently caressed her brother’s shoulder, “who was the mysterious lady of the Birdcage Walk?” Ryland looked up at her quickly. “Who told you about that?” he asked sharply. Inez smiled. “Anybody who had been at the inquest might have, I suppose; but as a matter of fact, the handsome but earnest Mr. Poole did.” Ryland tried to jump up from the chair, but Inez pressed him gently back.