"No," I sighed, my mind full of wonder. At that moment many strange things flitted across my brain. "We all of us foolishly believe that we have many years to live." "As soon as Asta heard of the legacy, she declared that she would not accept it," he remarked, "But I suppose she must, even though she transfers it to some charity, as is her intention." "I can quite understand her reluctance to take the dead man's present," I said. "It is only natural. Is she still very upset?" "Very. I scarcely know what to do with her. She suffers from insomnia, and sits for hours moping and sobbing. I've been wondering if a trip abroad would bring about forgetfulness. But she declared that she's had enough travelling, and prefers her own home. Therefore I'm half afraid to take her away. Redwood advises a journey through Hungary and Roumania, which would be fresh ground for her. But at present I'm undecided." He remained with me for a couple of hours, and afterwards left, when that same evening I was called by telephone up to London to see my lawyer regarding the pending action concerning a portion of my land. Fortunately, at the inquest, I had met the dead man's solicitor, Mr Sewell, and in order to ascertain whether Shaw's statement was correct, I called upon him in Lincoln's Inn Fields. From what I gathered it seemed that the bulk of the property had passed to a cousin, and that Asta had declined to accept her legacy, and had given instructions for it to be divided between three London hospitals. The solicitor, like myself, disagreed with the finding of the Coroner's jury. Yet he could form no theory as to the manner in which his client had met with his untimely end. On the afternoon of my return to Upton End, four days later, I was in the library scribbling a letter to catch the post, when a card was brought to me bearing the name, "Mrs Charles Olliffe." "The lady has come by car, sir, and wishes very particular to see you," the girl said. I was not over-pleased to have a visitor at that moment; nevertheless, I ordered her to be shown in, and in a few moments found myself confronted by a tall, well-built, good-looking, well-dressed woman of about forty-five, wearing a smart motor-bonnet and dust-coat. The latter was open, revealing a fine diamond brooch in her white silk blouse. As our eyes met, I held my breath; but next moment I managed to recover myself, and bowing, offered her a chair. "I hope, Mr Kemball, that you will pardon my intrusion. I am a stranger to you, but I wished to see you upon a matter of the greatest importance to myself." "There is no necessity for apology," I assured her. "I am at your service." My eyes were fixed upon her in wonder, for I had, on the instant I had seen her, recognised her as the original of the newspaper photograph I had locked away in my safe--the picture of Lady Lettice Lancaster!