At last he escaped police officials and reporters and found himself in the Heath Road, glad to breathe the outer air again, grey and misty as it was, covering the heath like a pall. Outside the Merriams, he paused, seized with a sudden desire for the comfort of Irene’s voice and the sympathy of her clear eyes. Mere intimacy, too, required that he should inform her of the catastrophe. He entered with the latch-key which he possessed by virtue of his intimacy, and knocked at the door of the smoking-room, where Irene always worked in the mornings. As soon as he appeared on the threshold, she rose quickly from her writing-table. “You have come to tell me--I know it. The whole of Sunnington knows it--a dreadful thing--that poor little girl!” “I have just come from the house,” he said, gravely. “I had a short interview with her. It is a terrible shock, of course, but she is bearing it pretty well--better than I should have expected. You know I was dining there yesterday, so I was nearly the last person who saw him alive. For that reason they came to fetch me this morning.” “Tell me what you know about it,” she said, drawing a chair towards him. He sat down and put her in possession of the facts, as far as they were known to the police. She listened intently, sitting by her writing-table, supporting her chin on her hand. “And have they no clue at all?” “None. The poor old fellow found murdered. A deed-box gone from the safe. A window left unsecured. Practically speaking, that is all they can go upon.” “Do you know, Hugh,” said Irene, “I am convinced it was no common burglar. It was some desperate man who had borrowed money on some securities which he knew lay in that box, and he committed this crime to get them back. He was hiding in the house all the evening, possibly somewhere in the study---and he opened that window to escape by the back lane.” He smiled in spite of himself at her feminine certainty. “I wish they would put you in charge of the investigations, Renie,” he said. “But don’t you think my theory is quite plausible?” she asked, accepting his remark with a humble knitting of her brows. He admitted that it was, observed that he had spoken not in satire but in admiration. The police were standing about there, not knowing where to turn next. “Well, the first thing,” said Irene, “would be to list the securities in the deed-box--there must be a record of them somewhere--and then to investigate the actions last night of each of the clients to whom the securities belonged.” “I never thought of that,” he exclaimed, sharply. “Yes, they’ll do that, undoubtedly.”