“Friends of yours?” Here was his chance, Shelley thought, and grasped the opportunity without delay. “Could you mention any friends of yours who were in any way regular visitors to this house, Miss Arnell? You see, in a case like this it is important to get hold of anyone who knew your father, as we may be able to get some sort of pointer on his ways of thought—and a comparative stranger often notices more than an intimate relative like yourself.”

There was a distinct pause before she replied. Then she said, slowly: “Miss Elizabeth Atkins. She’s my closest friend. She was often here. But she didn’t see much of father, I’m afraid. You see, he was the sort of man who keeps himself very much to himself, and he usually appeared only at meal-times if a visitor was here.”

“What would he do at other times—other times than meal-times, I mean?”

“Just shut himself up in his study. He was a curious person, really, and I often thought it queer that a man like that should have a daughter like myself, fond of brightness and company.” She showed every sign of going on with this line of thought, but Shelley was determined not to be led from the point, as he thought the conversation was just becoming of interest.

“Any other visitors?” he asked sharply.

“Well…” She appeared unwilling to answer this, and paused with an air of irresolution.

“Any men, for instance?” Shelley was intent on getting the information he required. “A man will often see something about other men which a woman will miss.”

“There is Mr. Baker,” she conceded.

“Who is he?”

“He is the teacher of science at the school around the corner here.”

Shelley smiled gently. “And does he come here very often?” he asked.

“Very often,” she replied, and paused again. “You see…you see…I am going to marry him.”

“And did your father approve of the engagement?”

Miss Arnell paused for a moment, and then burst into tears. Her whole body shook with great sobs. She was convulsed with sorrow, and wept as if her heart would break.

“I think,” she managed to blurt out between great bursts of tears, “that you are most unfair. The way that you worm things out of people. It may be your idea of doing a gentleman’s job in life, Mr. Shelley, but it’s not mine.”

Shelley looked at her sternly. “You seem to forget, Miss Arnell,” he said, “that your father was murdered. My job is not to deal with things in any kid-glove fashion, but to obtain all the information which seems to me at all likely to help in the investigation. I have no desire to hurt anyone, but one must occasionally be brutal in order to find out what is necessary in solving a very difficult problem.”