"Yes, I was interested in him," she answered, looking steadily away, and with a faint color in her cheeks. "Why do you ask? Did he not do his work properly?" "Oh, yes, he did his work very well, I believe," Mr. Thurwell said impatiently. "It was what he did after working hours, and which has just come to my notice, which makes me ask you. It seems he spent the whole of his spare time making covert, but I must say ingenious, inquiries respecting Sir Geoffrey's murder, and I am also given to understand that he paid Falcon's Nest an uninvited visit in the middle of the night. What does it all mean? Was it merely curiosity, or had he any object in it?" "I think--he had an object," she answered slowly. "Indeed!" Mr. Thurwell raised his eyebrows and waited for an explanation. "You remember, papa, that awful scene here when Rachel Kynaston died, and what her last words to me were?" "Yes, I remember perfectly," Mr. Thurwell answered gravely. "Well, at that time I could not help having just a suspicion that Mr. Brown must be mixed up in it in some way, and it seemed to me that I should not be quite at ease if I let matters go on without doing anything, so I--well, this young man came down here to see whether he could find out anything." Mr. Thurwell seldom frowned at his daughter, of whom he was secretly a little afraid, but he did so now. He was seriously angry. "It was not a matter for you to have concerned yourself in at all," he said, rising from his seat. "At least, I should have been consulted." "It was all very foolish, I know," she admitted humbly. "It was worse than foolish; it was wrong and undutiful," he declared. "I am astonished that my daughter should have mixed herself up with such underhand work. And may I ask why I was kept in ignorance?" "Because you would not have allowed me to do what I did," she said quietly, with downcast eyes. "I thought it was my duty. I have been punished--punished severely." He softened a little, and resumed his seat. She was certainly very contrite. He was silent for a moment or two, and then asked her a question. "Did this young man--detective, I suppose he was--find out anything about Mr. Brown?" She looked up, a little surprised at the curiosity in his tone. "Why, papa, it was I who found out how stupid I had been," she said. "When I discovered that our mysterious tenant was Bernard Maddison, of course I saw the absurdity of suspecting him at once." Mr. Thurwell moved a little uneasily in his chair. "He did not find out anything, then?" he asked. She was silent. She had not expected this, and she scarcely knew how to answer. "He found out what Mr. Brown--I mean Mr. Maddison--himself told me, that he had known Sir Geoffrey abroad." "Nothing more?" "I did not ask. To tell the truth, I was not interested. The idea of Mr. Maddison being connected with such a crime is simply ridiculous. I was heartily sorry that I had ever taken any steps at all."