He looked significantly at the fire, where the only trace of the note was a faint black film. "You have already received them," he said gravely. "Everything is as it was this morning. Your father is dead. For you nothing is left but silence--and courage." She shuddered a little. "Cord told me that the--the affair was in the hands of Scotland Yard, and that a Mr. Smith had been appointed to the case." The count started at the name. He opened his lips to speak, but closed them again. "Will he come and question me?" she continued. "Oh," she declared half wildly, "I could not bear that!" "I regret that Mr. Smith has been given the case," observed the count thoughtfully. "I know the gentleman, slightly. He is a difficult man to deceive. You may be sure, dear lady, that he will come--and come again, if he suspects anything. You must be on your guard. Aid him openly with all the information at your disposal. Make engagements with him. Write notes. Send him fresh clues--one a day! And now--how you say--good-bye!" He looked down into her eyes, smiling. Doris appeared to cling to him. "Oh, if you could be here to advise me!" she murmured. "I am afraid. It is all so secret--and terrible!" "I will return," he assured her. "In three days I will return, or wire instructions. Courage!" he whispered. He touched his lips to her hand, pressed it, gave her a long look, and turned abruptly upon his heel. Doris sank upon the divan, and stared drearily into the fire. Half-an-hour later, Lady Dinsmore, drawing the curtains softly, found her in the same position. The older woman's face was flushed, and showed traces of recent tears. She sat down beside the girl and drew her close into her arms. "Dear," she said in a choked voice, "you must be very brave." Doris shuddered inside the protecting circle. Lady Dinsmore held her tightly. "Your poor father has been found. Mr. Smith is below. He wishes us to go with him, to identify the--the body." She bent down tenderly to the girl, who lay quite still in her arms, and then gave a little cry. Doris had fainted. CHAPTER VI A STRANGER COMES TO BURGOS He was a slender, distinguished man, and dressed in black, which is the colour of Spain. Seeing him, on windy days, when bleak, icy airstreams poured down from the circling Sierras, and made life in Madrid insupportable, one might have marked him down as a Spaniard. His black felt hat and his velvet-lined _cappa_ with its high collar would show him to be such from a distance, while nearer at hand his olive complexion, his delicately aquiline nose, and slightly upturned black moustache, would confirm the distant impression. He had come to Burgos from Madrid by an express, and had travelled all night, and yet he was the trimmest and most alert of the crowd which thronged the Calle de Vitoria, a crowd made up of peasants, tourists, and soldiers.