“Is not that terrible business ended yet?” she cried.  “I little dreamed that such could be the object of your visit, Davie.  What has happened—­”

The Italian swung round viciously.

“If you come here as a detective, Mr. Brett,” he snapped, “I refer you to the police.  Mr. Hume-Frazer is known to them.”

CHAPTER V

FROM BEHIND THE HEDGE

The man’s swarthy rage added force to the taunt.  David Hume leaped up, but Brett anticipated him, gripping his arm firmly, and without ostentation.

Margaret, too, had risen.  She appeared to be battling with some powerful emotion, choking back a fierce impulse.  For an instant the situation was electrical.  Then the woman’s clear tones rang through the room.

“I am mistress here,” she cried, “Giovanni, remain silent or leave us.  How dare you, of all men, speak thus to my cousin?”

Certainly the effect of the barrister’s straightforward statement was unlooked-for.  But Brett felt that a family quarrel would not further his object at that moment.  It was necessary to stop the imminent outburst, for David Hume and Giovanni Capella were silently challenging each other to mortal combat.  What a place of ill-omen to the descendants of the Georgian baronet was this sun-lit library with its spacious French windows!

“Of course,” said the barrister, speaking as quietly as if he were discussing the weather, “such a topic is an unpleasant one.  It is, however, unavoidable.  My young friend here is determined, at all costs, to discover the secret of Sir Alan’s murder.  It is imperative that he should do so.  The happiness of his whole life depends upon his success.  Until that mystery is solved he cannot marry the woman he loves.”

“Do you mean Helen Layton?” Margaret’s syllables might have been so many mortal daggers.

“Yes.”

“Is David still in love with her?”

“Yes.”

“And she with him?”

David Hume broke in: 

“Yes, Rita.  She has been faithful to the end.”

A very forcible Italian oath came from Capella as he passed through the window and strode rapidly out of sight, passing to the left of the house, where one of the lines of yew trees ended in a group of conservatories.

Margaret was now deadly white.  She pressed her hand to her bosom.

“Forgive me,” she sobbed.  “I do not feel well.  You will both be always welcome here.  Let no one interfere with you.  But I must leave you.  This afternoon—­”

She staggered to the door.  Her cousin caught her.

“Thank you, Davie,” she whispered.  “Leave me now.  I will be all right soon.  My heart troubles me.  No.  Do not ring.  Let us keep our miseries from the servants.”

She passed out, leaving Hume and the barrister uncertain how best to act The situation had developed with a vengeance.  Brett was more bewildered than ever before in his life.