Merry reflected. "Send Jasher to me," he said. "If I approve of the man, and Mr. Calvert is satisfied, we will employ him to take up the case. I intend also to write to Inspector Derrick. By the way, can you tell us of any circumstances in your cousin's life which may hint at the reason for the committal of this crime?" "No. My cousin was a good, pure woman. I know of nothing. But her death must be avenged. The assassin must be found----" "Lest you should be suspected," interposed Merry. "That amongst other things," said Bocaros, with dignity. "I am a poor man, Mr. Merry, but I would give all I possess, which is not much, to learn the truth." "If money can discover the truth, you may be sure the death of Mrs. Brand will be avenged," said Merry, and held open the door for the professor to pass through. "By the way, we will speak to Mr. Calvert about an annuity." "No," said Bocaros, colouring, and with an indignant look. "Calvert is a stranger to me. I do not accept money from strangers. Let him spend it in learning who killed Flora. The only boon I ask of him is that he should employ Jasher, seeing that I have given the case to the man under a misapprehension." "Is Jasher a clever man?" "Very--so far as I can judge." "He seems rather given to jumping to conclusions," said Merry dryly, "seeing that he accuses Mr. Fane, who proved an _alibi_ at the inquest, and Mr. Brand, who is away in Australia. If his methods are like that, I fear he will not do much good." "In that case you can employ another man. Here is my address," said the professor, taking a card from his pocket. "Ask Mr. Calvert to call. He is sure to be in my neighbourhood, as he is engaged to the sister-in-law of Mr. Fane." He departed, leaving Merry quite stunned by this last piece of intelligence. CHAPTER X WHAT THE COOK FOUND Mrs. Fane was seated in the White Room waiting for visitors. As usual she was knitting, and every now and then glanced at her little girl, who, washed and dressed and curled and bedecked with ribbons, played with her doll. The child was very like her father, having the same pink and white face and weak mouth. She was a pretty, pale creature, with fair hair, almost white--what the Scots call linty--locks. Never was there such a contrast as that between mother and child. The mother firm, majestic, strong, composed; the child weak, restless, delicate, and undersized. As Mrs. Fane looked at Minnie, she uttered a sigh, being alone. Had any one been present, she would not have condescended to such weakness. "Just like her father," thought Mrs. Fane, her firm, shapely hands busy with the needles; "delicate, weak, irresponsible. I almost wish I had married a strong man. I would have at least had healthy children. No"--here she shook her head--"it's better as it is. I am my own mistress and Walter's master. Better as it is."