Brenda stopped short. Lady Jenny had gone to the Rectory also. Perhaps Harold had seen her, and had asked for her aid. While she was wondering if this might be so, there was a great shouting, and in the distance she saw the blaze of torches borne by many people. The wind made them flare furiously. "Ach!" said Van Zwieten under his breath, "they know now." In the high wind Brenda did not hear him. Guessing that the concourse meant the discovery of the body, she flew along the road like a lapwing. The procession was coming toward the Manor gates from the direction of the orchards. Some men were shouting, some women screaming, but the solid group surrounded by the red, smoking lights remained silent. Van Zwieten followed noiselessly, and reached the group almost as soon as Brenda. "You see," he breathed in the girl's ear, "he is alive!" Brenda gave a cry of joy and flung herself into the arms of the foremost man. "Harold! Harold! Thank God you are safe!" "Brenda! What are you doing here? Go back! go back!" "No, no. Tell me who--who is dead. Who has been murdered?" Seeing she knew so much, Harold signed to the men carrying the body to stop. They set down the gate on which it rested. "Malet!" cried Brenda, as she recognized the features of the corpse. "It is Mr. Malet!" CHAPTER IV. A STRANGE PIECE OF EVIDENCE. Next morning there was great excitement in Chippingholt. That a murder should have taken place in that peaceful hamlet was bad enough, but that the victim should be the lord of the Manor himself was terrible beyond words. The body was carried up to the house, and the rural constable, not feeling himself competent to deal with so unusual an incident, sent for instructions to the police station at Langton. Toward midday an inspector and constables came over to investigate. The inspector proceeded at once to the Manor and interviewed Lady Jenny. Her coolness and powers of endurance in such trying circumstances amazed even this stolid official. She was a small, slightly-built woman, with a sylph-like figure, dark blue eyes and dark hair. Her rose-leaf skin was wonderfully delicate of tint and texture, and she looked fragile enough to be blown away by a breath of wind. She was said to be both frivolous and emotional, a shallow creature, fond of nothing but pleasure and spending money. In this emergency every one expected her to relapse into hysteria, and to be quite incapable of any control over her feelings; but, to their surprise, she was all the opposite of this, and shed hardly a tear. She received the news of the death almost apathetically, directed the body to be laid out in the bed which her husband had occupied when alive, and herself calmed the emotions of the household. Indeed, Wilfred Burton was far more upset about the murder than was Lady Jenny. He expressed his amazement at her wonderful self-control. He was lying on the sofa in her morning-room when he spoke to her on the subject.