newspaper side of this sad business, and she had entreated me to do anything I
could to keep journalists away from the place--I'm sure you can understand her
feeling, Trent; it isn't really any reflection on that profession. But she
said you appeared to have great powers as a detective, and she would not stand
in the way of anything that might clear up the crime. Then I told her you were
a personal friend of mine, and gave you a good character for tact and
consideration of others' feelings; and it ended in her saying that, if you
should come, she would like you to be helped in every way.'

Trent leaned across the table and shook Mr. Cupples by the hand in silence.
Mr. Cupples, much delighted with the way things were turning out, resumed:

'I spoke to my niece on the telephone only just now, and she is glad you are
here. She asks me to say that you may make any enquiries you like, and she
puts the house and grounds at your disposal. She had rather not see you
herself; she is keeping to her own sitting-room. She has already been
interviewed by a detective officer who is there, and she feels unequal to any
more. She adds that she does not believe she could say anything that would be
of the smallest use. The two secretaries and Martin, the butler (who is a most
intelligent man), could tell you all you want to know, she thinks.'

Trent finished his breakfast with a thoughtful brow. He filled a pipe slowly,
and seated himself on the rail of the veranda. 'Cupples,' he said quietly, 'is
there anything about this business that you know and would rather not tell
me?'

Mr. Cupples gave a slight start, and turned an astonished gaze on the
questioner. 'What do you mean?' he said.

'I mean about the Mandersons. Look here! Shall I tell you a thing that strikes