“The assassin did that,” said Peter.

“And thus called a witness,” cried Basil.  “Ridiculous!”

“Then how do you explain the matter?”

“I can’t explain.  Neither can the detective Jennings.  It’s a mystery.”

“Could any of the servants—­” began Peter.

“No,” interrupted Saxon.  “The four servants were having supper in the kitchen.  They are innocent.  Well, we’ll see what the inquest reveals.  Something may be found before then likely to elucidate the mystery.  But here comes Mallow.  He questioned Jennings also, so you can question him if you like.  Does mother know?”

“Yes.  And she doesn’t want the fact of her relationship to your aunt talked about.”

Basil understood at once.  “No wonder,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.  “It is not a pleasant affair for a woman of mother’s celebrity to be mixed up with.”

Meantime, Juliet having heard the ring at the front door, escaped from the room to see her lover.  She met him divesting himself of his overcoat in the hall, and ran to him with outstretched hands.  “But why have you got on an overcoat this warm day?” she asked.

“I have a cold.  I caught one last night,” said Cuthbert, kissing her.

“Where were you last night?” asked Juliet, drawing him into a side room.  “I thought you were coming to the Marlow Theatre with Basil and me.”

“Yes.  But my uncle arrived unexpectedly in England and sent for me to his hotel in Guelph street—­the Avon Hotel, you know.  He will insist on a fire even in June, and the room was so hot that I caught cold when I came out.  I had to go down to Rexton to-day on his business, and put on a coat so as to avoid catching further cold.  But why this room, Juliet?”

“Father and Basil are in the drawing-room.  They are talking of the murder, and I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

“There are pleasanter things to talk about,” said Mallow.  “I knew Basil would come crammed with news.  Has he told you—­”

“He told us everything he could gather from the detective.  It seems that the crime is quite a mystery.”

“Quite.  Why your aunt should be killed, or how the assassin escaped, after killing her, cannot be discovered.  Jennings is in high glee about it.  He loves a puzzle of this sort.”

“Do you know him?” asked Juliet anxiously.

“Oh, yes.  Jennings is a gentleman.  He was at Eton with me.  But he ran through his money and took up the detective business.  He is very clever, and if anyone will learn the truth, he will.  Now, my theory—­”

Juliet put her hand over his mouth.  “Don’t,” she said.  “I have had enough horrors for this afternoon.  Let us talk of ourselves.”

“I would rather do this,” said Mallow, and kissed her.