She had lived what most girls of her age would have called a dull and pleasureless life. Her mother, who had been the brains and the manager of the household, had died when she was fifteen, leaving the care of her kindly, idealistic, impractical father and her pretty, inconsequent younger sister on her hands. Almost unconsciously she had shouldered the burden, but a very real burden she soon found it. Though they lived comfortably, even well, they were far from being well off; indeed, before long the chronic strain of making ends meet became to her a veritable nightmare. But she carried on bravely with a smiling face, entirely forgetful of her own pleasure. If only her father could be spared worry, and her sister have as good an education and as much amusement as could be extracted from their circumstances. But if the strain had made her self-reliant and dependable, it had also somewhat aged her and given her a seriousness beyond her years. She had, however, her reward in the way her father, now a rapidly ageing man, idolised and leant on her, and in the exuberant affection of her sister. She had on this bright summer morning just completed her accounts, having with characteristic thoroughness at last run to earth a fugitive fivepence which for a considerable time had avoided capture. She was putting away her books when the elderly general servant brought in a note. It was addressed in Austin Ponson’s square, masculine hand. With a sudden irrational feeling of foreboding she waited till the woman had left the room, then tore it open, and with a clutching at the heart read: 21st July. ‘Dear Lois: I am writing this by the courtesy of Inspector Tanner of Scotland Yard, though he has warned me he will have to read it before sending it on. He tells me that some evidence has been received which throws suspicion of my father’s murder on me, and that he is bound to arrest me. I do not yet know the details. This is just to say, dearest, that of course I see that under the circumstances there can be no question of an engagement between us. I will live in hope that if this trouble passes over, you will perhaps allow me once again to plead my cause, but if this should be good-bye, I can only say I am innocent of this awful charge, and beg you to think as kindly of me as you can. ‘Always yours devotedly, ‘Austin Ponson.’