Helen spent the early part of the morning in the garden, and arranging freshly cut flowers about the house. Then she practised for an hour, solely out of a sense of duty, for she was no musician. Directly the time was up, she closed the piano with a sigh of relief, and spent the rest of the time before two o'clock reading a rather stupid novel. After luncheon she made a call several miles off, driving herself in a light-brown cart, and played several sets of tennis, having for her partner a very mild and brainless young curate. At dinner-time she and her father met again, and when he entered the room he had two slips of orange-colored paper in his hand. "Well, what news?" she inquired. He handed the telegrams to her without a word, and she glanced them through. The first was from the bankers. "To Guy Davenant Thurwell, Esq., Thurwell Court, Northshire. "We consider Mr. Brown a desirable tenant for you from a pecuniary point of view. We know nothing of his family." The other one was from his lawyers. "To Guy D. Thurwell, Esq., Thurwell Court, Northshire. "Mr. Brown is a gentleman of means, and quite in a position to rent 'Falcon's Nest.' We are not at liberty to say anything as to his antecedents or family." "What am I to do?" asked Mr. Thurwell, undecidedly. "I don't like the end of this last telegram. A solicitor ought to be able to say a little more about a client than that." Helen considered for a moment. She was so little interested in the matter that she found it difficult to make up her mind either way. Afterwards she scarcely dared think of that moment's indecision. "Perhaps so," she said. "All the same, I detest Mr. Chapman. I should vote for Mr. Brown." "Mr. Brown it shall be, then!" he answered. "Douglas shall write him to-morrow." A fortnight later Mr. Bernard Brown took up his quarters at Falcon's Nest. CHAPTER II THE MURDER NEAR THE FALCON'S NEST "I call it perfectly dreadful of those men!" Helen Thurwell exclaimed suddenly. "They're more than an hour late, and I'm desperately hungry!" "It is rank ingratitude!" Rachel Kynaston sighed. "I positively cannot sit still and look at that luncheon any longer. Groves, give me a biscuit."