"It is possible the person who killed Jenner may have dropped it," he said. "But I am afraid it is but a slight clue after all these years. Besides, if Mrs. Jenner cannot guess the motive for the crime, I don't see how we can." "She thinks the motive was fear of blackmail on the part of the assassin," said Geoffrey. "Ah!" said the merchant, significantly. "I am not astonished. Jenner was a clerk in my office, and as thorough a blackguard as ever walked. He was exactly the man who would have blackmailed another if he could have done so with safety. But what reason has Mrs. Jenner for thinking this?" "Because her husband had boasted to her that in a red pocket-book which he flourished in her face he had the materials for getting money. Now, that pocket-book was not produced at the trial." "I see," said Mr. Cass, his chin on his hand. "You think the murderer stabbed Jenner as he stood by the window, stole the pocket-book, and had his link wrenched off in the struggle?" "That is the only way in which I can account for the crime." "It seems feasible enough," replied the merchant, musingly. "But I do not see how I can help you to trace the man. After Jenner left my office I saw very little of him. If Mrs. Jenner cannot tell whom it was he intended to blackmail no one else can." "She does not know, Mr. Cass. Her husband gave her no hint. All he said was that he could make money out of what he had in that pocket-book. She held her tongue, as you know, for her son's sake; now she sees that it was wrong. But she did it for the best. "I suppose she did," said Mr. Cass, giving the link back to Heron. "But I wish she had spoken out when I asked her. I could not induce her to be frank. She merely declared that she was prepared to suffer. Well," Mr. Cass rose to his feet, "I don't think there is anything more to be said, Heron." "But how are we to continue the search?" "Leave it in my hands for the moment. I will see Mrs. Jenner, and between the two of us, seeing we knew Jenner better than anyone else, we may find out who it was he intended to blackmail. If that should fail, I really don't know what to suggest. "Well, I will wait till you have seen her," Geoffrey said, and went off to bed. He rose early, and was out walking up and down the terrace before breakfast. Ruth was not down, but he could see Jennie Brawn playing with little George Chisel and Ethel. Mildred was not visible, but in a few minutes he found her seated in a disconsolate attitude on the steps. "What is the matter?" he asked, for he was fond of children. "It's Aunt Ruth," said the child, tearfully. "She won't give me back my doll's brooch." "Oh, I'll ask her to give it back. What is it like?" He asked the question carelessly, little dreaming of what the answer would be, nor guessing the consequences which would ensue. "It's a gold brooch, with a horse on it, a dear little horse."