The governess was a fair-haired, bland woman, with grey eyes and a rather hard mouth. She was not beautiful, but possessed an attractive manner, and was dressed with a quiet perfection that shewed excellent taste. In spite of her lack of good looks, there was that about her--what the Italians call _simpatica_--which would attract at least eight men out of ten. As she pressed Frank's hand and smiled at him with her grey eyes, he felt that here was a woman who could have made him love her. But Miss Hargone, as Frank judged, needed to employ the arts of Vivien to capture hearts; whereas, as in his own case, these same hearts were thrown at the feet of Donna Maria merely because of her splendid beauty. Each woman was attractive in her own way. "And what are you doing down here?" said Blake, throwing himself into a chair. "I did not know you knew Mrs. Grent." "Nor do I," replied Darrel flushing a little. "I came down here with a detective." Lydia started, and with a little shudder raised her hands in dismay. "Not about that dreadful murder?" "Yes, Miss Hargone about that dreadful murder. I am assisting the detective in charge of the case to investigate it." "Are you, now?" cried Blake, whose brogue became marked when he grew excited. "Sure, it's not thief-catching you've taken up?" "Oh, no; I am merely investigating the case in an amateur way." "Have you discovered anything, Mr. Darrel," asked Lydia softly. Frank shrugged his shoulders. "A few things," he said, "but nothing likely to lead to the detection of the assassin." "But there are two of them, they say," remarked Blake. "It's in the papers. One man killed poor old Grent; the other murdered that wretched woman." "Well," said Darrel deliberately, "for my part I believe that both crimes were committed by the same man." "Really!" cried Lydia, much astonished, "How do you know?" "It is too long to explain the theory upon which my belief is founded," said Frank; "but I am sure that the man who killed Grent also assassinated Julia Brawn." "Julia Brawn!" said Blake, starting up; "why, that is the name of Donna Maria's maid!" "So it is; the maid who left to get married a fortnight ago," said Lydia. "And the maid who was murdered a week since," remarked Frank, much amused at the astonishment of the pair. "Well!" cried Blake, slapping his thigh, "If that doesn't beat Bannagher; and Bannagher beats the devil! Two people from the one house! Begad, Darrel, I'd like to help you myself! It's fine work, man-hunting." "You'll have to ask Mr. Torry's permission first Blake." "Torry--who is he?" "The detective in charge of the case," said Frank. "At present he is with Donna Maria, examining the servants. Ah! here he comes."