‘Dear Mr Tanner: I have received the letter from Mr Ponson which you were good enough to permit him to write and I wish to convey to you my grateful thanks for your consideration. In case it should be contrary to the rules for him to receive my reply direct, I write to ask whether you could possibly see your way to convey to him this message—first, that I will not hear of our engagement being broken off; on the contrary, I am going to announce it immediately, and second, that though I know it is unnecessary to assure him of my absolute belief in him and in his innocence, I still wish to do so in the strongest manner possible. ‘I thought you were exceedingly kind on the day you called here, and I am sure that if you can do me this great favour you will. ‘Yours sincerely, ‘Lois Drew.’ She addressed the envelope to ‘Inspector Tanner, Criminal Investigation Department, New Scotland Yard, London’, marking it ‘Personal’. Then putting on her hat, she walked quickly to the post office and dropped the letter into the receiver. She thought that many of the passers-by looked at her curiously, but she was too much absorbed in her own thoughts to care. As she turned homewards it suddenly occurred to her that her cousin Jimmy might help her. Mr James Daunt was junior partner of a London firm of solicitors, a clever, and she believed, a rising man, and who would have all the knowledge of the possibilities of the case which she lacked. Moreover, Jimmy was a decent soul, and a good friend of her own. They had seen a lot of each other as children, and she felt he would help her if he could. She turned into the local telephone office and put through a call. Mr James Daunt was in his office. If she came to town he could see her at five o’clock. She travelled up by the 3.30 train, and at the hour named mounted the steps of the old house in Lincoln’s Inn. She was soon in her cousin’s room. ‘Hallo old girl!’ he greeted her when the door had closed. ‘Jolly to see you. It’s not often you take pity on a lonely old bachelor like this. Sit down, won’t you?’ She sank back into a deep, leather-lined arm-chair. They talked commonplaces for a few moments, and then Lois referred to the object of her call. She found it much harder to begin than she had expected, but when her cousin understood she was really in trouble he dropped his somewhat breezy manner and became serious and sympathetic. ‘Have you had tea?’ he asked, interrupting her story. ‘Not yet. I came direct from the station.’ ‘Then not a word till you’ve had it,’ he declared. ‘Come out to a quiet little place I know. We can talk there without interruption.’