“I was merely thinking,” said Henry, dutifully explaining—as requested, “that it was very annoying that Mr. Shelley did not invite me to help him over the case.”

“Nonsense!” Miss Fairhurst could put a lot of healthy contempt into one word, especially when that word was accompanied by a snort of gargantuan proportions. “Do you imagine, Henry Fairhurst, that any single creature on God’s earth thinks of you as a useful detective?”

Henry smiled deprecatingly, and gripped his pince-nez firmly before replying. “Well, one person does, at any rate, my dear,” he said.

“What?” His sister sat bolt upright in her chair, and regarded him with an air of complete astoundment. “Who, may I ask?”

“One of the principal witnesses in this case,” he said, “rang up this afternoon while you were out shopping, my dear Sarah, and asked if she might come around to discuss the case with me.”

“She?” Sarah pounced on the most important word in the sentence. “Who is this hussy, I should like to know?”

“Miss Arnell,” explained Henry. He was somewhat fearful, it must be admitted. This was the first time that he had dared to do such a thing as bringing a young woman to the house, and he was not at all certain of what would be the outcome of it. Sarah was a curious creature, the workings of whose mind he had never succeeded in fathoming, but he was sure that this would be a matter for fireworks of one kind or another. And he was not mistaken.

“Miss Arnell, indeed!” exclaimed Sarah. “And who, pray, is Miss Arnell?”

“The daughter of the man I saw murdered in the Museum Reading Room,” explained Henry, feeling more like a worm with each moment that passed.

“And when have you taken the liberty of inviting her to my house?” asked his sister, magnificently disregarding the fact that the house and its contents were actually Henry’s own property.

“This evening,” Henry faltered. “In fact,” he went on, as the outer bell rang, “in fact, I—er—I should think that is her at the door now.”

Miss Fairhurst set her face grimly and looked towards the door as Miss Arnell entered. Nor did that young lady’s charm and sweetness do anything to alter the steady determination on Miss Fairhurst’s countenance. She was clearly resolved to preserve her dignity and yet, at the same time, to study the young lady at close quarters. Although she said nothing to express such an opinion, both Henry Fairhurst and his visitor felt sure that his sister was mentally asking herself if the young lady could, by any possibility, be a parricide.

“This is Miss Arnell, my dear,” said Henry nervously. “And this, Miss Arnell, is my sister, Miss Fairhurst.”

“How do you do, Miss Fairhurst?” said Violet Arnell, holding out her hand to the grim old gorgon and smiling her most winning smile.