"Yes; many people know." "And that she was--murdered?" "They know that also." Iris looked at him strangely. "Who do they say killed her?" she demanded. "Nobody knows; nobody ventures an opinion." "Has any name been mentioned?" "No. I have come over here to offer my services----" "To the police?" she burst out, clutching his arm. "To you," replied Mexton. "Let me help you to find the criminal." "He will never be found." "It is a man, then?" said Mexton, for the third time. "He will never be found," repeated Iris coldly--"never." "But if I search I may----" "Paul," she said in a low tone--"as you value my friendship, never look for the assassin of Milly--never, never, never!" CHAPTER VI. ELIZA'S EVIDENCE. Before Paul could express his surprise at the strange remark of Iris, she left him, with a warning glance. Still, astonished both at her speech and action, he was about to follow, when Inspector Drek made his appearance. He beckoned to Mexton in a peremptory manner. "I am about to examine the servant in the drawing-room," he said hurriedly; "you can be present if you like." "As you please," answered Mexton, with feigned indifference. "She may throw some light on the subject." "Has Miss Link done so?" "No. I saw her for a few moments only; but she said nothing worth talking about." In making this statement Paul did violence to his own opinion; for, on consideration of the last remark made by Iris, he was persuaded that she knew more about the matter than she chose to tell. She did not want him to search for the criminal, therefore it would appear that she was aware of the identity of the guilty person, and did not want him, or her--for it might be a woman--arrested. But why should she thus side with the murderer of her sister? Paul could find no feasible answer to this question. Eliza made her appearance in the drawing-room in a state of hardly-controlled excitement, and took her seat before Mr. Inspector and Paul with the air of one who considers herself of the greatest importance. She was a constant reader of novels, and now fancied that she was the heroine of a story in real life. Short, red-faced and fat, Eliza wore the honours thus thrust upon her with an air of dignity. But these airs and graces were completely thrown away on Drek, who spoke to her sharply, and gave no latitude in answering. There was no romance about the inspector. "Well, Eliza," said he, looking her up and down, "and what do you know about this murder?" "Sir," replied the servant, with dignity, "I don't know much, but I guess a lot." "That is not to the point. We want facts, not fancies. Do you know who killed this poor girl?" "I 'ave my suspicions, Mr. Policeman." "To whom do your suspicions point?" "To my master, sir--to Dr. Lester." "Nonsense!" said Drek, while Paul started up with an exclamation of surprise. "You do not dare to say that Dr. Lester killed his own daughter--knowingly?"