Considerably vexed that Random should be so cheerful, Lucy cast round to learn the truth.  She could scarcely ask the baronet himself, and Archie professed himself unable to explain.  Miss Kendal did not dream of cross-examining Braddock, as it never entered her mind that the dry-as-dust scientist would know anything.  It then occurred to this inquisitive young lady that Mrs. Jasher might be aware of Random’s secret, which made him so cheerful.  Sir Frank was a great friend of the plump widow, and frequently went to take afternoon tea at her small house, which was situated no great distance from the Fort.  In fact, Mrs. Jasher entertained the officers largely, as she was hospitable by nature, and liked to have presentable men about her for flirting purposes.  With good-looking youth she assumed the maternal air, and in the role of a clever woman of the world professed to be the adviser of one and all.  In this way she became quite a favorite, and her little parlor—­she liked the old English word —­was usually, well filled at the hour of afternoon tea.

Twice already Lucy had called on Mrs. Jasher after the commotion caused by the crime, as she wished to speak to her about the same; but on each occasion the widow proved to be absent in London.  However, the third visit proved to be more lucky, for Mrs. Jasher was at home, and expressed herself happy to see the girl.

“So good of you to come and see me in my little wooden hut,” said the widow, kissing her guest.

And Mrs. Jasher’s cottage really was a little wooden hut, being what was left of an old-fashioned farmhouse, built before the stone age.  It lay on the verge of the marshes in an isolated position and was placed in the middle of a square garden, protected from the winter floods by a low stone wall solidly built, but of no great height.  The road to the Fort ran past the front part of the garden, but behind the marshes spread towards the embankment, which cut off the view of the Thames.  The situation was not an ideal one, nor was the cottage, but money was scarce with Mrs. Jasher, and she had obtained the whole place at a surprisingly small rental.  The house and grounds were dry enough in summer, but decidedly damp in winter.  Therefore, the widow went to a flat in London, as a rule, for the season of fogs.  But this winter she had made up her mind—­so she told Lucy—­to remain in her own little castle and brave the watery humors of the marshes.

“I can always keep fires burning in every room,” said Mrs. Jasher, when she had removed her guest’s hat and had settled her for a confidential talk on the sofa.  “And after all, my dear, there is no place like home.”