Canon Fittleworth was closeted in his study with Anthony Crosby, who had returned from Marsh Quay and was staying the night at an hotel. A maid announced the fact that a young lady wished to see the Canon, and handed him a visiting card on a salver. The Canon adjusted his pince-nez and read the name out loud. “Miss Winifred Cotterill.” “Eh?” interjaculated the lawyer, looking up from some papers he was studying. “Miss Winifred Cotterill,” repeated the Canon. “I don’t know her.” “But I do,” said Anthony Crosby, “at least, I know of her. She is, in a way, connected with this case, and I was going to communicate with her as soon as I got back to London.” “Oh, well, in that case, we’ll see her together. Show Miss Cotterill in, Jane.” The Canon looked her over quickly as she entered. He was, for the moment, half afraid that there might have been some unpleasant incident in his cousin’s life, with some undesirable female connected with it. His suspicions were quickly removed. He saw a neatly-dressed girl with a refined and pleasant face, and took a step towards her. “Miss Cotterill?” “I’m afraid I must apologise. I came down to Frattenbury because—because I read about Mr. Templeton’s murder in the paper this morning, and you are his cousin, and——” “Now do sit down, Miss Cotterill,” interrupted the Canon, “and before I ask you anything else—have you had any tea?” “I’ve only just arrived,” replied the girl. “I thought so. Now, I’m going to ring for tea. I’m sure you want some, and then you can tell us all about it. Mr. Crosby,” and he waved his hand in introduction towards the lawyer, “heard your name when it was announced, and says he knows of you.” Winnie Cotterill looked surprised. “You know me?” she asked. “I’ve heard about you, Miss Cotterill,” said the lawyer. “You see, I had the privilege of being a friend of Mr. Templeton, as well as his legal adviser, and he mentioned you several times. I quite understand what a shock this terrible affair must be to you.” “He was most awfully kind to me,” said the girl, her voice quavering a little, “and I felt I must come down and find out more about it.” Anthony Crosby nodded sympathetically. The maid brought in tea. Winnie Cotterill explained how Mr. Templeton had been a friend of her mother, and what he had done for her. Then she listened while the Canon told her about the murder. “But why, _why_ was he murdered?” she asked. “I can’t understand.” “Ah, my dear young lady,” said the Canon, “that is what we all want to know. We suspect that robbery was the cause of it and, of course, the police have it in hand. Now tell me,” and he looked at his watch, “I naturally take an interest in any friend of my poor cousin. Were you thinking of going back to London to-night? I ask because the funeral will take place to-morrow afternoon—the coroner has given an order for burial—and I thought you might like to be present.”