Hume did not send a telegram to the Sleagill Rectory.  He explained that, owing to the attitude adopted by the Rev. Wilberforce Layton, Helen avoided friction with her father by receiving his (Hume’s) letters under cover to Mrs. Eastham.

The younger man was quick to note that Brett did not like this arrangement.  He smilingly protested that there was no deception in the matter.

“Helen would never consent to anything that savoured of subterfuge,” he explained.  “Her father knows well that she hears from me constantly.  He is a studious, reserved old gentleman.  He was very much shocked by the tragedy, and his daughter’s innocent association with it.  He told me quite plainly that, under the circumstances, I ought to consider the engagement at an end.  Possibly I resented an imputation not intended by him.  I made some unfair retort about his hyper-sensitiveness, and promptly sent Helen a formal release.  She tore it up, and at the same time accepted it so far as I was concerned.  We met at Mrs. Eastham’s house that good lady has remained my firm friend throughout and I don’t mind telling you, Brett, that I broke down utterly.  Well, we began by sending messages to each other through Mrs. Eastham.  Then I forwarded to Helen, in the same way, a copy of a rough diary of my travels.  She wrote to me direct; I replied.  The position now is that she will not marry me without her father’s consent, and she will marry no one else.  He is aware of our correspondence.  She always tells him of my movements.  The poor old rector is worried to know how to act for the best.  His daughter’s happiness is at stake, and so my unhappy affairs have drifted aimlessly for more than a year.”

“The drifting must cease,” said Brett decisively.  “Beechcroft Hall will probably provide scope for activity.”

They reached Stowmarket by a late train.  Next morning they drove to Sleagill a pretty village, with a Norman church tower standing squarely in the midst of lofty trees, and white-washed cottages and red-tiled villa-residences nestling in gardens.

“A bower of orchards and green lanes,” murmured the barrister as their dog-cart sped rapidly over the smooth highway.

Hume was driving.  He pointed out the rectory.  His eyes were eagerly searching the lawn and the well-trimmed garden, but he was denied a sight of his divinity.  The few people they encountered gazed at them curiously.  Hume was seemingly unrecognised.

“Here is Mrs. Eastham’s house,” he said, checking the horse’s pace as they approached a roomy, comfortable-looking mansion, occupying an angle where the village street sharply bifurcated.  “And there is Beechcroft!”

The lodge faced the road along which they were advancing.  Beyond the gates the yew-lined drive, with its selvages of deep green turf, led straight to the Elizabethan house a quarter of a mile distant.  The ground in the rear rose gently through a mile or more of the home park.

Immediately behind the Hall was a dense plantation of spruce and larch.  The man who planned the estate evidently possessed both taste and spirit.  It presented a beautiful and pleasing picture.  A sense of homeliness was given by a number of Alderney cattle and young hunters grazing in the park on both sides of the avenue.  Beechcroft had a reputation in metropolitan sale-rings.  Its two-year-olds were always in demand.

“We will leave the conveyance here,” announced Brett “I prefer to walk to the house.”

The hotel groom went to the horse’s head.  He did not hear the barrister’s question: 

“I suppose both you and your cousin quitted Mrs. Eastham’s house by that side-door and entered the park through the wicket?”

“Yes,” assented Hume, “though I fail to see why you should hit upon the side-door rather than the main entrance.”

“Because the ball-room is built out at the back.  It was originally a granary.  The conservatory opens into the garden on the other side.  As there was a large number of guests, Mrs. Eastham required all her front rooms for supper and extra servants, so she asked people to halt their carriages at the side-door.  I would not be surprised if the gentlemen’s cloak-room was provided by the saddle-room there, whilst the yard was carpeted and covered with an awning.”

Brett rattled on in this way, heedless of his companion’s blank amazement, perhaps secretly enjoying it.

Hume was so taken aback that he stood poised on the step of the vehicle and forgot to slip the reins into the catch on the splashboard.

“I told you none of these things,” he cried.

“Of course not.  They are obvious.  But tell this good lady that we are going to the Hall.”

Both the main gate and wicket were fastened, and the lodge-keeper’s wife was gazing at them through the bars.

“Hello, Mrs. Crowe, don’t you know me?” cried Hume.

“My gracious, It’s Mr. David!” gasped the woman.

“Why are the gates locked?”

“Mrs. Capella is not receiving visitors, sir.”

“Is she ill?”

“No, sir.  Indisposed, I think Mr. Capella said.”

“Well, she will receive me, at any rate.”

“No doubt, sir, it will be all right.”

She hesitatingly unbarred the wicket, and the two men entered.  They walked slowly up the drive.  Hume was restless.  Twice he looked behind him.

He stopped.

“It was here,” he said, “that the two men dismounted.”

Then a few yards farther on: 

“Alan came round from the door there, and they fought here.  Alan forced the stranger on to the turf.  When he was stabbed he fell here.”

He pointed to a spot where the road commenced to turn to the left to clear the house.  Brett watched him narrowly.  The young man was describing his dream, not the actual murder.  The vision was far more real to him.

“It was just such a day as this,” he continued.  “It might have been almost this hour.  The library windows ”

He ceased and looked fixedly towards the house.  Brett, too, gazed in silence.  They saw a small, pale-faced, exceedingly handsome Italian a young man, with coal-black eyes and a mass of shining black hair scowling at them from within the library.

A black velvet coat and a brilliant tie were the only bizarre features of his costume.  They served sufficiently to enhance his foreign appearance.  Such a man would be correctly placed in the marble frame of a Neapolitan villa; here he was unusual, outre, “un-English,” as Brett put it.

But he was evidently master.  He flung open the window, and said, with some degree of hauteur: 

“Whom do you wish to see?  Can I be of any assistance?”

His accent was strongly marked, but his words were well chosen and civil enough, had his tone accorded with their sense.  As it was, he might be deemed rude.

Brett advanced.

“Are you Signor Capella?” he inquired.

“Mr. Capella.  Yes.”

“Then you can, indeed, be of much assistance.  This gentleman is Mrs. Capella’s cousin, Mr. David Hume-Frazer.”

“Corpo di Baccho!”

The Italian was completely taken by surprise.  His eyebrows suddenly stood out in a ridge.  His sallow skin could not become more pallid; to show emotion he flushed a swarthy red.  Beyond the involuntary exclamation in his own language, he could not find words.

“Yes,” explained the smiling Brett, “he is a near relative of yours by marriage.  We were told by the lodge-keeper that Mrs. Capella was indisposed, but under the circumstances we felt assured that she would receive her cousin unless, that is, she is seriously ill.”

“It is an unexpected pleasure, this visit.”

Capella replied to the barrister, but looked at Hume.  He had an unpleasant habit of parting his lips closely to his teeth, like the silent snarl of a dog.

“Undoubtedly.  We both apologise for not having prepared you.”

Brett’s smooth, even voice seemed to exasperate the other, who continued to block the library window in uncompromising manner.

“And you, sir.  May I ask who you are?”

“My name is Brett, Reginald Brett, a friend of Mr. Hume’s who, I may mention, does not use his full surname at present.”

The Italian was compelled to turn his glittering eyes upon the man who addressed him so glibly.

“I am sorry,” he said slowly, “but Mrs. Capella is too unwell to meet either of you to-day.”

“Ah!  We share your regrets.  Nevertheless, as a preliminary to our purpose, you will serve our needs equally well.  May we not come in?”

Capella was faced with difficult alternatives.  He must either be discourteous to two gentlemanly strangers, one of them his wife’s relative, or admit them with some show of politeness.  An Italian may be rude, he can never be gauche.  Having decided, Capella ushered them into the library with quick transition to dignified ease.

He asked if he might ring for any refreshments.  Hume, who glared at his host with uncompromising hostility, and had not taken any part in the conversation, shook his head.

Brett surprised both, for different reasons, by readily falling in with Capella’s suggestion.

“A whisky and soda would be most grateful,” he said.

The Italian moved towards the bell.

“Permit me!” cried Brett.

He rose in awkward haste, and upset his chair with a loud crash on the parquet floor.

“How stupid of me!” he exclaimed, whilst Hume wondered what had happened to flurry the barrister, and Capella smothered a curse.

A distant bell jangled.  By tacit consent, there was no further talk until a servant appeared.  The man was a stranger to Hume.

Oddly enough, Brett took but a very small allowance of the spirit.  In reality, he hated alcohol in any form during the earlier hours.  He was wont to declare that it not only disturbed his digestion but destroyed his taste for tobacco.  Hume did not yet know what a concession to exciting circumstances his new-found friend had made the previous day in ordering spirits before luncheon.

When the servant vanished, Capella settled himself in his chair with the air of a man awaiting explanations.  Yet he was restless and disturbed.  He was afraid of these two.  Why?  Brett determined to try the effect of generalities.

“You probably guess the object of our visit?” he began.

“I?  No.  How should I guess?”

“As the husband of a lady so closely connected with Mr. Hume ”

But the Italian seemed to be firmly resolved to end the suspense.

“Caramba!” he broke in.  “What is it?”

“It is this.  Mr. Hume has asked me to help him in the investigation of certain ”

The library door swung open, and a lady entered.  She was tall, graceful, distinguished-looking.  Her cousinship to Hume was unmistakable.  In both there was the air of aristocratic birth.  Their eyes, the contour of their faces, were alike.  But the fresh Anglo-Saxon complexion of the man was replaced in the woman by a peach-like skin, whilst her hair and eyebrows were darker.

She was strikingly beautiful.  A plain black dress set off a figure that would have caused a sculptor to dream of chiselled marble.

“A passionate, voluptuous woman,” thought Brett.  “A woman easily swayed, but never to be compelled, the ready-made heroine of a tragedy.”

Her first expression was one of polite inquiry, but her glance fell upon Hume.  Her face, prone to betray each fleeting emotion, exhibited surprise, almost consternation.

“You, Davie!” she gasped.

Hume went to meet her.

“Yes, Rita,” he said.  “I hope you are glad to see me.”

Mrs. Capella was profoundly agitated, but she held out her hand and summoned the quick smile of an actress.

“Of course I am,” she cried.  “I did not know you were in England.  Why did you not let me know, and why are you here?”

“I only returned home three days ago.  My journey to Beechcroft was a hasty resolve.  This is my friend, Mr. Reginald Brett.  He was just about to explain to Mr. Capella the object of our visit when you came in.”

Neither husband nor wife looked at the other.  Mrs. Capella was flustered, indulging in desperate surmises, but she laughed readily enough.

“I heard a noise in this room, and then the bell rang.  I thought something had happened.  You know I mean, I thought there was no one here.”

“I fear that I am the culprit, Mrs. Capella.  Your husband was good enough to invite us to enter by the window, and I promptly disturbed the household.”

Brett’s pleasant tones came as a relief.  Capella glared at him now with undisguised hostility, for the barrister’s adroit ruse had outwitted him by bringing the lady from the drawing-room, which gave on to the garden and lawn at the back of the house.

“Please do not take the blame of my intrusion, Mr. Brett,” said Margaret, with forced composure.  “You will stay for luncheon, will you not?  And you, Davie?  Are you at Mrs. Eastham’s?”

Her concluding question was eager, almost wistful.  Her cousin answered it first.

“No,” he said.  “We have driven over from Stowmarket.”

“And, unfortunately,” put in the barrister, “we are pledged to visit Mrs. Eastham within an hour.”

The announcement seemed to please Mrs. Capella, for some reason at present hidden from Brett.  Hume, of course, was mystified by the course taken by his friend, but held his peace.

Capella brusquely interfered: 

“Perhaps, Rita, these gentlemen would now like to make the explanation which you prevented.”

He moved towards the door.  So that his wife could rest under no doubt as to his wishes, he held it open for her.

“No, no!” exclaimed Brett.  “This matter concerns Mrs. Capella personally.  You probably forget that we asked to be allowed to see her in the first instance, but you told us that she was too unwell to receive us.”

For an instant Margaret gazed at the Italian with imperious scorn.  Then she deliberately turned her back on him, and seated herself close to her cousin.

Capella closed the door and walked to the library window.

Hume openly showed his pained astonishment at this little scene.  Brett treated the incident as a domestic commonplace.

“The fact is,” he explained, “that your cousin, Mrs. Capella, has sought my assistance in order to clear his name of the odium attached to it by the manner of Sir Alan Hume-Frazer’s death.  At my request he brought me here.  In this house, in this very room, such an inquiry should have its origin, wherever it may lead ultimately.”

The lady’s cheeks became ashen.  Her large eyes dilated.

“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.”