"Oh, what shall I do!" she wailed. "I am the most miserable woman in England to-day, and I might have been the happiest." "Why are you miserable, Mrs. Capella?" asked Brett gently. "I cannot tell you. Perhaps it is owing to my own folly. Are you sure that David and Helen intend to get married?" "Yes." "Then, for Heaven's sake, let the wedding take place. Let them leave Beechcroft and its associations for ever." "That cannot be until Hume's character is cleared from the odium attached to it." "You mean my brother's death. But that has been settled by the courts. David was declared 'Not guilty.' Surely that will suffice! No good purpose can be gained by reopening an inquiry closed by the law." "I think you are a little unjust to your cousin in this matter, Mrs. Capella. He and his future wife feel very grievously the slur cast upon his name. You know perfectly well that if half the people in this county were asked, 'Who killed Sir Alan Hume-Frazer?' they would say 'David Hume.' The other half would shake their heads in dubiety, and prefer not to be on visiting terms with David Hume and his wife. No; your brother was killed in a particularly foul way. He died needlessly, so far as we can learn. His death should be avenged, and this can only be done by tracking his murderer and ruthlessly bringing the wretch to justice. Are not these your own sentiments when divested of all conflicting desires?" Brett's concluding sentence seemed to petrify his hearer. "In what way can I help you?" she murmured, and the words appeared to come from a heart of stone. "There are many items I want cleared up, but I do not wish to distress you unduly. Can you not refer me to your solicitors, for instance? I imagine they will be able to answer all my queries." "No. I prefer to deal with the affair myself." "Very well. I will commence with you personally. Why did you quarrel with your brother in London a few days before his death?" "Because I was living extravagantly. Not only that, but he disapproved of my manner of life. In those days I was headstrong and wilful. I loved a Bohemian existence combined with absurd luxury, or rather, a wildly useless expenditure of money. No one who knows me now could picture me then. Yet now I am good and unhappy. Then I was wicked, in some people's eyes, and happy. Strange, is it not?" "Not altogether so unusual as you may think. Was any other person interested in what I may term the result of the dispute between your brother and yourself?" "That is a difficult question to answer. I was very careless in money matters, but it is clear that the curtailment of my rate of living from £15,000 to £5,000 per annum must make considerable difference to all connected with me." "Had you been living at the former rate?" "Yes, since my father's death. What annoyed Alan was the fact that I had borrowed from money-lenders." "Who else knew of your disagreement with him besides these money-lenders and his solicitors?"