Her brother shrugged his shoulders. He was very fond of Aurora, but he saw her many faults, and she certainly had too long a tongue for one engaged in private matters. "What about Hay?" he asked. Aurora raised her eyes. "I thought you wanted to know of my discoveries at Christchurch," she said, pouting. "Well, I do. But Hay?--" "Oh, he's all right. He's going to marry Miss Krill and her money, and is getting cash together by fleecing young Sandal. That fool _will_ play, and keeps losing his money, although I've warned him." "Then don't warn him. I wish to catch Hay red-handed." "Ah," Miss Qian nodded, "you may catch him red-handed in a worse matter than gambling." "Aurora, you don't mean to say he has anything to do with the murder of Aaron Norman?" "Well, I don't go so far as to say that, Billy. But when I got settled in the private sitting-room of 'The Red Pig' on the plea that I had come down for a change of air, and expected my brother--" "Which you do without any lies." "Yes, that's all right, Billy," she said impatiently. "Well, the first thing I clapped eyes on was a portrait of Grexon Hay in a silver frame on the mantelpiece." "Hum," said Hurd, nursing his chin in his hand, "he may have given that to Miss Krill during the engagement." "I daresay," rejoined the actress, tartly, "for he has been engaged for many a long day--say two years." "I thought so," said Hurd, triumphantly. "I always fancied the meeting at Pash's office was a got-up thing." "What made you think so?" "Because, when disguised as the Count de la Tour, I overheard Hay address Miss Krill as Maud, and it was the first time she and her mother came to his rooms. Sandal was there, and gambling went on as usual. I lost money myself," said Hurd, with a grimace, "in order to make Hay think I was another pigeon to pluck. But the mention of the Christian name on so short an acquaintance showed me that Hay and Miss Krill had met before. I expect the meeting at Pash's office was a got-up game." "You said that before, Billy. How you repeat yourself! Yes. There's an inscription on the portrait--'From Grexon to Maud with much love'--sweet, isn't it? when you think what an icicle the man is. There is also a date--two years ago the photograph was given. I admired the photograph and asked the landlady who was the swell." "What's the landlady's name?" "Matilda Junk." Hurd almost jumped from his seat. "That's queer," he said, "the woman who is devoted to Miss Norman and who nursed her since she was a baby is called Deborah Junk." "I know that," said Aurora, "I'm not quite a fool, Billy. I mentioned Deborah Junk, whom I saw at the inquest on Norman's body. The landlady said she was her sister, but she had not heard of her for ages. And this Matilda is just like Deborah in looks--a large Dutch doll with beady eyes and a badly painted face." "Well, that's a point," said Hurd, making a note. "What did she say about the photograph?"