“I see,” murmured “Pinkie,” “I thought perhaps that was how it came about. When Colonel Delaney died some years ago—I stayed on with Mrs. Delaney and when Mrs. Delaney was taken too, I had to be mother and father to Miss Sheila, sort of combined. What else do you want me to tell you?” she inquired of him, plaintively. “Who were her friends? With whom did she mix?” demanded Bannister. “Who was in the habit of visiting here?” “Since Major Carruthers was killed—scarcely anybody,” came “Pinkie’s” answer. “Come now,” said Bannister, gently and persuasively, “surely somebody came here sometimes?” “A few girl friends—very occasionally—and a year or so ago young Mr. Alan Warburton was a pretty frequent visitor—up to the time, say, that the Major’s accident took place. But he hasn’t been near here for a long time now. Sir Matthew Fullgarney and Lady Fullgarney would come perhaps once every two or three months but latterly there was no one at all who came here anything like regularly. You can rest easy on that,” she added. “You say Alan Warburton was a regular visitor a year or so ago. Why did he suddenly cease to come—any idea? Was there any trouble between them that you know of?” “I don’t know about trouble exactly—Miss Sheila told me though in the early part of last year that Alan Warburton needed ‘putting in his place.’” “Putting in his place, eh?” exclaimed Bannister with interest. “And what did you understand by that remark?” “I thought perhaps he had presumed on his friendship with Miss Sheila.” “How far had this friendship extended?” “What do you mean?” “Pinkie” looked a trifle scared. “I mean this. Rumours have reached me from more than one source that Miss Delaney and Alan Warburton were looked upon as lovers at the time of which you speak. Would you subscribe to that opinion?” “Pinkie” demurred—vigorously shaking her head. “No! Mr. Warburton admired her very much—it’s true—a blind man would have been able to see that. And Miss Sheila liked him a great deal, too. I can tell you that much. But I wouldn’t admit anything beyond that. Sheila, in my opinion looked upon him as a close friend—but I wouldn’t say that it was anything more than that.” She repeated her denial. “I see,” soliloquised Bannister. “So that it would be altogether an unfair statement to say that Miss Delaney’s attitude changed towards Mr. Warburton consequent upon the Bank scandal in which his uncle—Sir Felix Warburton—was involved?” “Utterly untrue,” responded Miss Kerr, vehemently. “A thing like that wouldn’t alter Sheila’s feelings in any way towards anybody she regarded as a friend. She would have scorned to do such a thing. Such conduct would have been completely foreign to her nature.” She began to sob again—engulfed once more in a tide of poignant memories. Her mention of Sheila had brought them all rushing home to her again. “Please calm yourself,” entreated the Inspector, “there’s something else I want to ask you.”