This record of a day remarkable beyond any other in the history of secluded Roxton might strike a more cheerful note if it followed the two young people across the park. It is doubtful whether or not Sylvia Manning's unpremeditated action in accompanying Trenholme was inspired by a sudden interest in art or by revolt against the tribulations which had befallen her. Of course there is some probability that a full and true account of the conversation between man and maid as they walked the half mile to Jackson's farm might throw a flood of light on this minor problem. Be that as it may, stern necessity demands that the chronicle should revert for a time to the sayings and doings of the Fenleys and the detectives. Despite a roundabout route, Furneaux had merely led Robert Fenley through the gardens to the Quarry Wood. Somewhat to the detective's surprise, the rock was unguarded. The two were standing there, discussing the crime, when Police Constable Farrow returned to his post. Furneaux said nothing--for some reason he did not emphasize the fact to his companion that a sentry should have been found stationed there--but a sharp glance at the policeman warned the latter that he ran considerable risk of a subsequent reprimand. Conscious of rectitude, Farrow saluted, and produced his notebook. "I've just made a memo of this, sir," he said, pointing to an entry. Furneaux read: Miss Sylvia Manning left home 6.45 P. M. Met Mr. John Trenholme, artist, White Horse Inn, in avenue 6.47 P. M. The two held close conversation, and went off together across park in direction of Roxton 6.54 P. M. Lady wore no hat. Regarded incident as unusual, so observed exact times. "I note what the Inspector says, and will discuss the point later," said Furneaux, returning the book. The policeman grinned. As between Scotland Yard and himself a complete understanding was established. "Have the local police discovered anything of importance?" inquired Fenley, who, now that his own affairs called for no immediate attention, seemed to give more heed to the manner of his father's death. At first, his manner to Furneaux had been churlish in the extreme. Evidently he thought he could treat the representative of the Criminal Investigation Department just as he pleased. At this moment he elected to be gruffly civil in tone. "They are making full inquiries, of course," replied the detective, "but I think the investigation will be conducted in the main by my Department----As I was saying, Mr. Fenley, undoubtedly the shot was fired from this locality. Dr. Stern, who is an authority on bullet wounds, is convinced of that, even if there was no other evidence, such as the chauffeur's and the artist's I told you of, together with the impressions formed by Bates and others." "Were there no footprints?" was the next question, and Fenley eyed the ground critically. He deemed those Scotland Yard Johnnies thickheaded chaps, at the best.