Mr. Cupples smiled at him benevolently. 'That is precisely the point,' he
said, 'on which I can be of some assistance to you.' Trent glanced up in
surprise. 'I told you I half expected you. I will explain the situation. Mrs.
Manderson, who is my niece--'

'What!' Trent laid down his knife and fork with a clash. 'Cupples, you are
jesting with me.'

'I am perfectly serious, Trent, really,' returned Mr. Cupples earnestly. 'Her
father, John Peter Domecq, was my wife's brother. I never mentioned my niece
or her marriage to you before, I suppose. To tell the truth, it has always
been a painful subject to me, and I have avoided discussing it with anybody.
To return to what I was about to say: last night, when I was over at the
house--by the way, you can see it from here. You passed it in the car.' He
indicated a red roof among poplars some three hundred yards away, the only
building in sight that stood separate from the tiny village in the gap below
them.

'Certainly I did,' said Trent. 'The manager told me all about it, among other
things, as he drove me in from Bishopsbridge.'

'Other people here have heard of you and your performances,' Mr. Cupples went
on. 'As I was saying, when I was over there last night, Mr. Bunner, who is one
of Manderson's two secretaries, expressed a hope that the Record would send
you down to deal with the case, as the police seemed quite at a loss. He
mentioned one or two of your past successes, and Mabel--my niece--was
interested when I told her afterwards. She is bearing up wonderfully well,
Trent; she has remarkable fortitude of character. She said she remembered
reading your articles about the Abinger case. She has a great horror of the