"Oh! doctor, doctor," she cried, emotionally, "I am so glad you have come. I do want someone to talk to about poor papa's death. If you hadn't come, I should have sent for you,--I should indeed but now that you are here," she dragged him to a Louis Quinze sofa, all carving and brocade, "we can talk over everything, freely." "Hasn't Mrs. Mountford----?" "No, Mrs. Mountford hasn't," interrupted the girl, producing a flimsy lace handkerchief, which was more for show than for use. "She does nothing but groan. Poor papa dead, oh," she shuddered, "isn't it too awful for words? Inspector Trent,--a horrid stiff thing, I think,--came last night and told me. I wondered that papa hadn't come home, and I fancied that something might have happened, but I never, never, never," she was emphatic, "never dreamt that anything so terrible as murder had taken place." So she ran on, not allowing Browne to get a word in edgeways. He sat looking at her while she chattered, and acknowledged that although this feminine butterfly was extremely pretty, she was scarcely the girl to gain the love of a serious-minded young fellow such as he knew his old school-friend to be. Maud Tedder was slight and fair-haired and delicate, and resembled nothing so much as one of those Dresden-china shepherdess ornaments, which are dear to china-maniacs. Her complexion was pink and white, her features insignificant, her hair insipidly golden, and her eyes pale blue. A very pretty doll to come out of a bonbon box, but scarcely the daughter for stern-faced, grasping, bullying Sir Simon Tedder, who had won his wealth and knighthood by sheer brain-strength. "What is to be done?" asked Browne, when she gave him a chance of asking a question. "Oh, Mr. Trent said that the inquest would take place to-morrow at the 'Marsh Inn.' Then poor papa will be buried, and the lawyer--Mr. Ritson you know--will tell me what I am to do with the money. As soon as everything is settled, I shall go away to Switzerland with Mrs. Mountford, and stop there for a few months. I'm a foolish little thing and never know what to do, but it seems that I must act in this way. Poor papa," and she wiped her eyes with the flimsy handkerchief, and shivered. Browne was surprised at the sensible way in which she talked, and the cut and dried programme she had sketched out. He would not have credited her with such foresight, as Miss Tedder decidedly took after her mother, a frail, brainless beauty of old descent, who had died three year previously. But perhaps she had more of her father's brains than he had believed, and now that she was in a position to use them, had summoned them to her aid. The programme was sufficiently reasonable, but Browne noted that she did not say a word about the accused man, and with him she had been supposed to be in love over two years ago, before he had taken to the sea. At once, Browne, who was nothing if not blunt, reminded her of this oversight in his gruff way. "What about your cousin?"