"Nevertheless she has a kind heart, and will make Eva very happy. I think, mother, it is the best that can be done. Eva doesn't want to come here, and she will not marry me until the murderer of her father is discovered." "Why won't she come to me?" asked Mrs. Hill sharply. Allen looked down. "She doesn't like my father," he said. "Very rude of her to tell you that. But I know my poor Harold is not popular." "He is whimsical," said Allen, "and, somehow, Eva can't get on with him. She was not rude, mother, but simply stated a fact. She likes my father well enough to meet him occasionally, but she would not care to live with him. And if it comes to that," added Allen frowning, "no more should I. He is too eccentric for me, mother, and I should think for you, mother." "I am fond of your father in my own way," said Mrs. Hill, looking down and speaking in a low voice, as though she made an effort to confess as much. "But does Eva expect to find out who murdered Mr. Strode?" "Yes. She refuses to marry me until the assassin is found and punished. As she was bent on searching for the man herself, I offered to search for her." Mrs. Hill frowned. "Why did you do that?" she asked sharply; "Strode is nothing to you, and you have to return to America. Far better find that capitalist you want, than waste your time in avenging the death of that man." "You don't seem to like Mr. Strode, mother." "I hate him," said the woman harshly and clenching her fist: "I have cause to hate him." "Had my father cause also?" asked Allen pointedly. She looked away. "I don't know," she answered gloomily. "Strode and your father were very intimate all their lives, till both married. Then we saw very little of him. He was not a good man--Strode, I mean, Allen. If my word has any weight with you, stop this search." The young man rose and began to pace the library. "Mother, I must take up the search," he said in an agitated voice, "for my father's sake. No one but myself must search for the assassin." "What do you mean by that?" questioned Mrs. Hill, sitting very upright and frowning darker than ever. Allen replied by asking a question. "Who knows that my father is called Lawrence, mother?" Mrs. Hill uttered an ejaculation of surprise and grew pale. "Who told you he was called so?" "I found the name in an old book of Cowper's poems given by Mr. Strode to my father in their college days. It was presented to Harold Lawrence Hill." "I remember the book," said Mrs. Hill, recovering her composure. "But what is odd about your father having two names? He certainly has dropped the Lawrence and calls himself simply, Harold Hill--but that is for the sake of convenience. Only those who knew him in his young days would know the name of Lawrence." "Ah!" said Allen, thoughtfully turning over the brown paper, "then this was sent by some one who knew him in his young days."