In the previous chapter I described to you how Victor Fensden had fallen in a dead faint just at the moment when the gentlemen were about to go in search of the ladies, in order to reassure them after the terrible shock they had received. Immediately on hearing his friend fall, Godfrey hurried to his assistance, asking Sir Vivian meanwhile to go in search of brandy. The latter had scarcely left the room, however, before Victor opened his eyes.

“My dear old fellow,” said Godfrey, “I am indeed thankful to see that you are better. I knew very well that this terrible business had upset you more than you were willing to admit. Never mind, it will all be put right in the end. How do you feel now?”

“Much better,” Victor replied. “I can not think what it was that caused me to make such an idiot of myself.”

At this moment Sir Vivian returned with a glass of brandy and water. Victor sipped a little.

He had not been feeling well of late, he explained, and this shock, coming on the top of certain other worries, had unmanned him altogether.

“This has been a terrible day,” said Godfrey, “and a poor welcome for you to Detwich. Now, perhaps, you would rather rest a little before joining the others.”

“I think I should prefer to do so,” said Victor, and he accordingly retired to his room, while Sir Vivian and Godfrey went on to explain matters as best they could to the ladies, who were in the dining-room, awaiting their return with such patience as they could command.

“My dear boy,” said Mrs. Henderson, hastening forward to greet Godfrey as he entered the room, “you must know how we all feel for you. This has been a terrible experience. Have you been able to arrive at any understanding of it?”

“I think I can,” said Godfrey, who dreaded another explanation. “It will be time enough, however, for me to explain later on. It is sufficient at present to say that a terrible murder has been committed in London, and that the assassin, knowing that I had endeavoured to be a good friend to his victim, has played a ghastly practical joke upon me. As you may suppose, the circumstance has upset me terribly; and when I tell you that you will make me happier if you will spare me further conversation upon the subject for the present, I am sure you will do so.”

“I think it would be better,” said Sir Vivian. “We have placed the matter in the hands of the police, and I am sure that Griffin will do all that lies in his power to prevent Godfrey from being unduly worried by the affair.”

Godfrey felt a small hand steal into his.

“I am so sorry for you,” whispered Molly.

The touch of her soft warm hand was infinitely soothing to him. It did him more good than any amount of verbal sympathy.

“But where is Mr. Fensden?” inquired Mrs. Henderson.

“The shock has proved too much for him,” Sir Vivian explained. “He informed Godfrey that he would prefer to go to his room to rest for a while. I have never met your friend before, Godfrey, but I should say that he is not very strong.”

“I am afraid he is not,” the other replied, and the subject dropped.

A quarter of an hour later Sir Vivian announced his intention of returning home, and when his carriage had come round, took Godfrey on one side.

“Keep up a stout heart, my boy,” he said. “The man who committed the crime will certainly be captured before very long, and then the poor girl will be avenged.”

Then the kindly old gentleman drove away. When he had seen him depart, Godfrey went into the house and made his way upstairs to inquire after Fensden’s welfare. Somewhat to his surprise, he found him apparently quite himself once more.

“I can not think what made me behave in that foolish fashion,” said Victor, as he rose from the sofa on which he had been lying. “I am not given to fainting fits. Forgive me, old fellow, won’t you?”

“There is nothing to forgive,” said Godfrey.

As he spoke the dressing gong sounded, and after having asked Fensden whether he would prefer to come down, or to have his meal sent to him, and having received an answer to the first in the affirmative, Godfrey left him, and proceeded along the passage to his own room. When he reached it he passed to the further end and stood before the original sketch of his famous picture, “A Woman of the People.” It was only a mere study, roughly worked out; but whatever else it may have been, it was at least a good likeness of the hapless Teresina.

“And to think that that beautiful face is now cold in death,” he said to himself, “and that the brute who murdered her is still at large. God grant that it may be in my power to bring him to justice!”

Before he dressed, he sat down at his writing-table and composed a letter to the coroner, informing him of all he knew of the case, and promising him that he would be present at the inquest in order to give any evidence that might be in his power to supply. It was only when he had finished the letter and sealed it that he felt that he had done a small portion of his duty toward the dead. He also wrote to his solicitor giving him an account of the affair, and telling him that he would call upon him on Monday, prior to the inquest, in order to discuss the matter with him.

Then he rang for his valet and gave instructions that the letters should be posted without fail that evening. Then he began to dress with a heart as heavy as lead. He remembered how much he had been looking forward to this dinner ever since the idea had first occurred to him. In his own mind he had endeavoured to picture the first meal that Victor and his betrothed should take together. He had imagined his friend doing his best to amuse Molly with his half-cynical, half-burlesque conversation, with Kitty chiming in at intervals with her sharp rejoinders, while he and his mother listened in quiet enjoyment of their raillery. How different the meal was likely to prove!

His dressing completed, he descended to the drawing-room, where he had the good fortune to find Molly alone. It was plain that she had been there long enough to read the evening paper, for there was a look of horror upon her face as she came forward to meet her lover.

“Godfrey, darling,” she said, “I see by this paper that a terrible murder has been committed in the neighbourhood of the Tottenham Court Road, and that the victim was once your model. I can now understand why it has affected you so much. Those hands were hers, were they not? I see also that it says that some one, a gentleman in evening dress, was seen talking to her about midnight on the pavement outside her house. Do you think that that man had anything to do with the crime?”

“I am quite sure he had not,” Godfrey answered. “For the simple reason that that man happened to be myself.”

“Yourself? You, Godfrey?” she inquired, looking up at him with startled eyes. “But that was the night on which we were at the theatre together?”

“Yes, dear, the same night,” he answered. “Perhaps it would be better if I were to tell you the whole story.”

“Tell me nothing more than you wish,” she said. “I am content to trust you in everything. If I did not, my love would scarcely be worth having, would it?”

And then he told her of his association with the unhappy woman; told her of Teresina’s sorrow, and of his own desire to assist her. Molly’s heart was touched as she listened.

“You were right,” she said, “to try and help her, poor girl! If I had known, I would have endeavoured to have done something for her for your sake. Now, unhappily, it is too late. But you must not think too much of it, Godfrey dear. Try to put it away from you, if only for a time.”

At this moment Victor Fensden entered the room. It was plain that he had recovered his former spirits. He apologized in an easy fashion for his weakness of the afternoon, and ascribed it to his recent travels, which, he said, had proved too much for his enfeebled constitution.

“I am not like Godfrey, Miss Devereux,” he said. “He seems capable of bearing any amount of fatigue, plays cricket and football, tennis and golf, while on a summer’s day I sometimes find it impossible even to lift my head.”

It was a sad little party that sat down to dinner that evening. Godfrey was in the lowest spirits, and Molly was quiet in consequence. Fensden was accepted, on his own showing, for an invalid, Mrs. Henderson was naturally of a silent disposition, while Kitty, finding that her efforts were unappreciated, lapsed into silence after a time, and thus added to the general gloom. After dinner there were music and polite conversation in the drawing-room until ten o’clock, followed by a retirement to the billiard-room for a game at pool. It did not prove a success, however. No one had any heart for the game, and before the first three lives had been lost it was voted failure, and the cues were accordingly replaced in the rack. The memory of two white hands, tightly clinched in despair, rose continually before every eye, and when, at half-past ten, Mrs. Henderson proposed that they should retire for the night, every one accepted the situation with a feeling that was very near akin to relief.

The next day was scarcely better. For the first time since he had been master of the house Godfrey rose early on a Sunday morning, and, having ordered his dog-cart, drove into the village. It was scarcely seven o’clock when he reached the police-station to discover that the head constable had not yet risen from his bed. He waited in the small office while the other dressed, finding what consolation he could in a case above the chimney-piece in which several sets of manacles were displayed. The constable in charge was plainly overwhelmed by the squire’s presence, and to cover his confusion poked the fire almost continuously. At last, after what seemed like an hour, Griffin put in an appearance, and with many apologies invited Godfrey to accompany him to his own private sanctum where breakfast was being laid.

“It’s the first time for many a long day that I have overslept myself, sir,” he hastened to remark; “but I have been so thinking of this ’ere case that I did not get to sleep until this morning, and I am mortal sorry, sir, that I should have kept you waiting.”

“You have communicated with Scotland Yard, of course?” said Godfrey, after the other had finished his apology.

“I telegraphed to them last night, sir, and forwarded my written report at the same time. The p............