"Mrs. Killenhall," answered the parlour-maid.

"And the young lady--her name?" asked the Inspector.

"Miss Wickham."

The Inspector walked inside the house.

"Just ask Mrs. Killenhall and Miss Wickham if they'll be good enough to
see Inspector Drillford for a few minutes," he said. Then, as the girl
closed the door and turned away up the inner hall, he whispered to Viner.
"Better see both and be done with it. It's no use keeping bad news too
long; they may as well know--both."

The parlour-maid reappeared at the door of a room along the hall; and the
two men, advancing in answer to her summons, entered what was evidently
the dining-room of the house. The two ladies had thrown off their wraps;
the younger one sat near a big, cheery fire, holding her slender fingers
to the blaze; the elder stood facing the door in evident expectancy. The
room itself was luxuriously furnished in a somewhat old-fashioned, heavy
style; everything about it betokened wealth and comfort. And that its
owner was expected home every minute was made evident to the two men by
the fact that a spirit-case was set on the centre table, with glasses and
mineral waters and cigars; Viner remembered, as his eyes encountered
these things, that a half-burned cigar lay close to the dead man's hand
in that dark passage so close by.

"Mrs. Killenhall? Miss Wickham?" began Drillford, looking sharply from
one to the other. "Sorry to break in on you like this, ladies, but the
fact is, there has been an accident to Mr. Ashton, and I'm obliged to