“This is one of the women I told you of,” he murmured. “Mrs. Tretheroe’s maid—Daphne Halliwell, sister of the girl Myra Halliwell, who married Guy Markenmore. She’s therefore aunt to the new baronet!—and as deep as they make ’em. Come with me—I’ll let her think you’re an assistant of mine.” “Excellent!” said the Professor. “An adventure! By all means, my dear fellow! The lady looks as if she had something to impart.” “I shouldn’t wonder!” answered Blick. “As I say—she’s deep.” Daffy had retreated further up the walk between the laurel and holly bushes; she now stood awaiting their approach, and as they drew near, she looked closely at the Professor, and especially at his fashionable attire. Her eyes glanced a question at Blick. “All right!” whispered Blick. “Professional friend of mine. What is it?” “I want to speak to you,” said Daffy. She looked round at their surroundings and then at a narrower path which opened close by. “Come along here,” she went on. “There’s an old summer-house down there that’s never used—we shall be safe there.” The two men followed Daffy’s trim figure through a maze of shrubs until they came to a rustic arbour set in the midst of high trees. Entering this, a dilapidated and mouldy place, she turned and confronted Blick with another side-glance at the Professor. “I wanted to speak to you, Mr. Blick,” she said, in low tones. “I’d been waiting there at the gate some little time, thinking I might see you coming out of the Sceptre. My mistress has driven into Selcaster, so I shan’t be wanted, and nobody’s likely to come here, so we’re safe enough for a bit of talk. Look here! there’s a reward out, isn’t there?” “One hundred pounds,” assented Blick, watching her narrowly. Daffy made a grimace. “Oh, well!” she said. “It’s a miserable amount, but I don’t want it, and I don’t know anything that would enable me to get it. But—now, this is between ourselves, isn’t it?” “Absolutely!” declared Blick. “Strictly so. Tell us anything you like—and can.” “Well, I know of somebody who, I believe, has made a pretty good guess at the truth about Guy Markenmore,” answered Daffy. “And he’s a man who’d be glad of a hundred pounds, for he wants to emigrate.” “What man?” asked Dick. Daffy lowered the tones of her voice. “Jim Roper!” she whispered. “You’ve heard of him?” “Yes,” replied Blick. He was already wondering how much of whatever was coming was to be relied on; as far as he had seen into her character, Daffy did not seem the sort of woman to tell anything that would not benefit herself. But she might have reasons for benefiting Jim Roper which was not yet apparent. “Yes,” he repeated, “I’ve heard of Jim Roper. He’s the man who wanted to marry your sister, Myra, isn’t he—the sister who ran away with and married Guy Markenmore?”