“He was a barrister.  I do not mean that he practised in the Consular courts.  He was making his way in England, but was offered some sort of appointment in Shanghai.  The post was so lucrative that he relinquished a growing connection at the bar.  I have never really understood what he did.  I fancy he had to report on commercial matters to some firm of bankers in London, but he supplied very little positive information before Edith and he sailed.  Indeed, I took it that his mission was highly confidential, and about that time there was a lot in the newspapers about rival negotiators for a big Chinese loan, so I formed the opinion that he was sent out in connection with something of the sort.  Neither he nor Edith meant to remain long in the Far East.  At first their letters always spoke of an early return.  Then, when the years dragged on, and I asked for definite news of their homecoming, Edith said that Arthur could not get away until the country’s political affairs were in a more settled state.  Finally came a cablegram from Edith:  ‘Arthur dead; sailing immediately,’ and my niece was with me within a few weeks.  The supposed cause of her husband’s death was some virulent type of fever, but, as I said, Edith was convinced that he had been poisoned.”

“Why?”

“That I never understood.  She never willingly talked about Shanghai, or her life there.  Indeed, she was always most anxious that no one should know she had ever lived in China.  Yet she had plenty of friends out there.  I gathered that Arthur had left her well provided for financially, and they were a most devoted couple.  Edith was the only relative I possessed.  It is very dreadful, Mr. Theydon, that she should be taken from me in such a way.”

Her hearer was almost thankful that she yielded to the inevitable rush of emotion.  It gave him time to collect his wits, which had lost their poise when that wicked-looking little skull was, so to speak, thrust forcibly into his recollection.

“In a word,” he said, at last, “you are Mrs. Lester’s next-of-kin and probably her heiress?”

“Yes, I suppose so, though I was not thinking of that,” came the tearful answer.

“Yet the relationship entails certain responsibilities,” said Theydon firmly.  “You should be legally represented at the inquest.  Are your affairs in the hands of any firm of solicitors?”

“Yes—­ at Oxford.  I contrived to call at their office yesterday and they recommended me to consult these people,” and Miss Beale produced a card from a handbag.  Theydon read the name and address of a well-known West End firm.

“Good,” he said.  “I recommend you to go there at once.  By the way, was any one looking after Mrs. Lester’s interests?  Surely she had dealings with a bank or an agency?”

“Y—­ yes.  I do happen to know the source from which her income came.  She—­ made a secret of it—­ in a measure.”

“Pray don’t tell me anything of that sort.  Your legal adviser might not approve.”