On account of its mystery the murder of Mrs. Jersey made a great sensation. The season was dull, and there was nothing of interest in the newspapers, therefore the mysterious crime was a godsend to the reporters. They flocked in shoals to Amelia Square and haunted the Jersey mansion like unquiet ghosts. Whenever any boarder went out for a walk he or she would be questioned by eager gentlemen of the press. Idle sightseers of a morbid turn of mind came to look at the place where the crime had been committed, and pictures of the house appeared in several papers. From being a peaceful neighborhood, Amelia Square became quite lively.

The boarders found all this most unpleasant. This rude awakening from their sleepy life was too much for them, and the majority made preparations to leave as soon as the inquest was over. Until then they were under police surveillance and could not leave the neighborhood, a restriction which in itself was sufficiently unpleasant. Brendon found it particularly so, as he was anxious to get back to his own rooms at Kensington and to his work. But even when he told Inspector Quex that he was merely a visitor and knew nothing about the matter, that zealous officer objected to his going. Perhaps, had Brendon insisted, he might have gained his point, but he did not think it was worth while to make the fact of his stay in the Jersey mansion too public, and therefore held his peace. He stopped with Leonard as usual, but the two men were not such friends as they had been.

Why Train had changed toward him Brendon could not understand. But ever since Leonard had been submitted to the ordeal of seeing the corpse he had been an altered man. From being gay he was now dull; instead of talking volubly, as he usually did, he was silent for hours at a stretch, and he appeared to shun Brendon's company. George knew that Train was impressionable and sensitive, and thought that the sight of the dead and the ordeal of the examination had been too much for his weak nerves. This might have been the case, but Leonard never gave him the satisfaction of knowing if his diagnosis was correct. After a time George ceased to ply him with questions, and contented himself with the usual courtesies of life. But in his heart he felt the change deeply. Fool as Train was, Brendon liked him sufficiently to resent his altered demeanor.

At the inquest nothing was discovered likely to elucidate the mystery. The boarders all gave the same evidence they had already given to Quex. Certainly it came out that Miss Bull had prophesied that Madame would die a violent death, but when questioned on this point she merely said that she had done so because the death card had been turned up. Taken in conjunction with another card, according to the reading employed by fortune-tellers, a violent death was assuredly prophesied. But, as Miss Bull said, no one was more astonished than herself at the speedy fulfillment of the prediction. "I told the fortunes on that night for amusement only," she said, "as I do not believe there is any sense in such things. It was mere chance, nothing more. I am not a believer in cards as prophets."

But the coincidence was so extraordinary that several of the newspapers hinted that the old maid knew more than she chose to tell. Miss Bull was up in arms at once, and, after consulting her solicitor, threatened actions for libel until such statements were withdrawn. And certainly, on the face of it, the accusation was absurd. The majority of people who did believe in fortune-telling by the cards insisted that Miss Bull was quite an adept. Several urged her to set up in business, promising her their patronage, but the little old maid drew herself up, and, mentioning that her father had been a general, refused to entertain the idea.

Beyond this episode there was little interest to be found in the details of the inquest. It appeared that every one was in bed by eleven, that every one had slept soundly more or less, and that all were astonished and shocked when the tragedy came to light next morning. Train could have created a sensation by stating that he had heard the front door open after eleven; but, true to his promise to George, he said nothing about this. Miss Bull, on the other hand, declared that the front door was locked as usual, and that she had taken the key from the dead woman's pocket to open it when the police entered. It would appear that Mrs. Jersey had been murdered by some one in the house. Yet not one scrap of evidence could be found to show that any one in the house could possibly be guilty. The boarders were all old, the servants all ordinary human beings, and no motive could be assigned to any one person for the committal of so cruel a crime. Moreover, the fact that the instrument used was a stiletto (and the doctor held to that) showed that the crime must have been committed by a foreigner. The only foreign person in the house on the night in question was Fritz, the Swiss waiter. But he would not have killed a fly, and, moreover, exculpated himself entirely with the aid of Jarvey, in whose room he slept. The jury brought in a verdict of murder against some person or persons unknown, and that was all that could be done toward the elucidation of the Amelia Square crime.

"There's only one thing that wasn't spoken of," said Quex, when he saw the boarders in the drawing-room for the last time; "it seems that Mrs. Jersey always put out the light above the door at eleven, or when the guests departed. On this occasion it burned all night, and, as it shines behind crimson glass, such a red window might be a guide to any one who did not know the house, but who had been given that sign whereby to distinguish it."

"I can explain that," said Granger, who was present. "When Madame was bidding farewell to her guests she thought that some of them might be lost in the fog. Therefore she called out after them that she would let the light burn later so that any might be able to retrace their steps."

"Well," said Quex, scratching his head, "that explanation is clear."

"And there is no use for it," put in Miss Bull, "since the front door was locked and no one entered the house on that night."

"That's just it," said the inspector, sagaciously. "As all you ladies and gentlemen are clearly innocent the crime must have been committed by some one from outside. Now, is there any one to whom Madame gave a latch-key?"

"None of us had latch-keys," said Harmer. "Madame would not allow such a thing."

"Oh, I don't mean you, or those like you, Mr. Harmer. At your age a latch-key is not necessary. But Mrs. Jersey may have given one to a friend of hers who came to see her on that night. Had she any friend in whom she would place such confidence?"

"No," said Miss Bull, decisively. "She trusted no one that far. And I don't think she had a single friend outside this house."

"And very few in it," muttered Mrs. Taine, who on various occasions had suffered from Madame's tongue.

"In that case," said Quex, rising to take his leave, "there is nothing more to be discussed. Who killed Mrs. Jersey, or why she was killed, will probably never be known. Ladies and gentlemen, good-day," and the inspector bowed himself stiffly out of the room, with the air of a man who washed his hands of the whole concern.

And, after all, what could he do? There was no proof likely to indicate any one as the assassin, and since Leonard kept silent on the point of the front door having been opened after eleven, it was impossible to say that the criminal had entered the house. Had Mr. Inspector known of this he might have made further inquiries; but he knew nothing and departed extremely perplexed. The Amelia Square crime was one of those mysterious murders which would have to be relegated to obscurity for sheer want of evidence.

"When are you going back to Duke Street?" asked Brendon as he took his leave of Train.

"This very day," replied the young man, gloomily. "I don't want to stop a moment longer than I can help in this awful house."

"I expect many of the others are of your way of thinking, Train. But, so far as I can see, there is no hope of learning who killed the woman."

"If you had only allowed me to tell Quex about the door being opened he might have traced the assassin."

"I don't think so." Brendon shook his head. "It was a foggy night, and whosoever entered would be able to slink away without being seen."

"I am not so sure of that. There is only one outlet to the square, and there stands a policeman on guard."

"The policeman would not be there all the time," argued Brendon, "to say nothing of the fog, which would hide any one desirous of evading recognition, as the assassin assuredly must have wished."

"All the same, I wish I had told Quex."

"Well, then, tell him if you like," said George, vexed with this pertinacity.

"But you asked me not to."

"Only because I fear, with your weak nature, that one question will lead to another, until the whole of my private affairs will come to light. I don't want those to be known at Scotland Yard, let alone the chance that I might be accused of the crime."

"Oh, that's ridiculous! You could not have left the sitting-room unless I had let you out, and there is no door from your bedroom."

"That is true enough," answered Brendon, with an ironical smile, the significance of which was lost on Train. "But if the whole of my story came to light you might be accused of helping me to get rid of the woman."

"I?" Leonard's hair almost rose on end. "How could I be mixed up in it?"

"Well, see here," argued Brendon, who thought it just as well to make Train's own safety depend upon the discretion of too free a tongue. "I tell you about this house, and on my recommendation you come here. I come to stop with you and reveal my reasons for coming. These have to do with the possession of a secret by the murdered woman. All that, to a policeman, would be suspicious. What would be easier than for me to go down the stairs and, when the woman refused to confess as to my legitimacy, to stab her? Then I could return to my bed, and you could prove an alibi on my behalf by your tale of having locked the sitting-room door."

Train shuddered. "I see how easily we can get into trouble. I shall say nothing. I wish I had not come here. I shall go abroad until all blows over."

"Why," said Brendon, in scorn, "what is there to blow over? No more will be heard of this matter if you hold your tongue. The inquest is at an end, the woman will be buried shortly, and you will be back leading your own life. So far as I am concerned you know that I am not guilty, and that I could not have left my room since you locked that special door. Then, as to hearing the front door open, that may have been a hallucination on your part."

"No. I am sure it wasn't. I heard distinctly."

"Well--" Brendon shrugged his shoulders, but seemed uncomfortable--"I dare say the assassin came and went in that way. But if he, or she, did, the door was found fast locked in the morning, unless Miss Bull is telling a lie."

"She might be."

"I don't see what she has to gain. But there's no use talking any further. The matter is ended so far as I an concerned."

"What will you do now?"

"I am going to see Dorothy," said Brendon, "and tell her that there is no chance of our marriage. Nor is there, for I cannot see my way to prove my legitimacy. We must part, and I shall probably go down the country for six months or so, to finish my novel and to get rid of my heartache."

Train remained silent, looking at the ground. Then he glanced at his friend in a doubtful way. "What has become of your yellow holly?"

Brendon produced it from his pocket. "It withered, so I took it out of my coat and put it into this envelope."

"Do you know if Miss Ward gave any one else a piece of yellow holly?"

Brendon stared at this strange question. "Not to my knowledge. Why do you ask?"

Train shuffled his feet and looked down again. "It is an exceptionally rare sort of thing," he said uneasily, "and its effect on Mrs. Jersey was so strange that I wondered if she connected it with any trouble or disaster."

"You made the same remark before," said Brendon, dryly, "and we could arrive at no conclusion. But in any case I don't see that Miss Ward giving me the holly has anything to do with Mrs. Jersey's alarm--if indeed she was alarmed."

"I think she was," said Train, decisively, "and if I were you I would ask Miss Ward why she gave you the yellow holly."

"What would be the sense in that?"

"You might learn why Mrs. Jersey was startled."

Brendon laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "Your active brain is building up a perfect romance," he declared. "There can be no connection between Dorothy and Mrs. Jersey."

"Did she know you were coming to stop here on that night?"

"Yes. I told her so when I met her in the Park in the morning. It was then that she asked me to afternoon tea."

"And at the afternoon tea she gave you the holly?"

"Yes. You seem to think she did it on purpose that Mrs. Jersey----"

Train interrupted him quickly. "It is you who are building up a romance now," he said. "I never thought anything of the sort. But I do say that the coincidence is strange."

"What coincidence?"

"That you should have in your coat a flower--I suppose one can call berried holly a flower--which awakens unpleasant recollections in Mrs. Jersey's breast."

"In a word, Train, you fancy that an inquiry into the circumstances of the yellow holly may lead to a detection of the assassin."

"I don't go so far as that. But I should not be surprised if something of that sort did eventuate."

"Then you do go so far as that," said Brendon with a shrug. "However, there is nothing more to be said. My advice to you is to hold your tongue lest we should both get into trouble."

"I am absolutely innocent."

"So am I if it comes to that. All the same, the less said the better."

Train shook hands with more cordiality than he had hitherto displayed. "I'll be silent for my own sake as well as for yours," he said, and the two parted, Leonard to pack up, and Brendon to journey with his bag for Kensington. Both men were conscious of a relief when they took leave of each other.

"I wish he hadn't come here," said Train when Brendon departed.

"I wish I had held my tongue," muttered George when he was in his cab. "That fool seems to think I know something about this matter."

Of course the economy of the mansion was disordered when the crime was committed. But, thanks to the firm handling of Miss Bull, who now took the reins which had fallen from the hands of Madame, a few days put a different complexion on affairs. Margery knew where her aunt kept the money, and Miss Bull made several of the boarders behindhand pay up. Thus there was enough money to go on with, and Miss Bull decided to wait until after the funeral, before deciding what she intended to do herself. When Mrs. Jersey was buried her lawyer made his appearance with the will. It was read to Margery, and Miss Bull stopped beside the poor girl as the only friend she had in the world. The will was short and concise, as it seemed that there was very little to leave. The lawyer read it and then looked at Margery to hear what she had to say. The girl simply stared at him blankly, as though not comprehending his meaning, and Miss Bull touched her elbow.

"Do you hear what he says?" she asked rebukingly.

"Yes," replied Margery, "but I don't understand. Haven't I any money?"

The lawyer would have read the will again, but Miss Bull held up her hand.

"She is stunned with grief," said Miss Bull, "and is not capable of attending to business. Go and lie down, Margery, and I will speak to this gentleman."

"You do exactly what you like, dear Miss Bull," said Margery, rising, and then turned to the lawyer. "Let Miss Bull do exactly as she likes. I leave all in her hands."

"The most sensible thing you can do," said the legal adviser under his breath, and when Margery had left the room he turned to the old maid. "Is she an idiot?"

"By no means. But she is not very clever. I have taken a great interest in her, as, to tell you the truth, Mr. James, she was badly treated by her aunt. If you will explain the will to me I will see what can be done to put things straight. I am sorry for the girl and she is devoted to me."

"It is lucky she has such a friend," said Mr. James, heartily. He did not care much for Miss Bull, whose very presence seemed to inspire mistrust, but she was acting very well on this occasion. Moreover, as Margery was not likely to prove a lucrative client, Mr. James was anxious to shuffle the business onto Miss Bull's shoulders and get out of it as fast as he could. "What is it you wish to know?" he asked.

"About this will," said Miss Bull, laying one thin finger on the document. "Madame leaves to Margery Watson, her niece, the money in the green box in her sitting-room, and also the jewels, which I presume mean the diamonds."

"Yes. Also, if you will recollect, the clothes of the deceased lady.

"Is there nothing else?" asked Miss Bull, raising her black eyes inquiringly. "What of the lease of this house?"

"That is the property of Lord Derrington, and he only let the house to Mrs. Jersey by the year."

"Is not that rather strange?"

"Very strange. But the whole connection of Lord Derrington with my late client is strange. I know that she received from him an annuity of five hundred a year and the lease of this house--by the year, remember--from December to December. Now she is dead the annuity lapses, and the lease naturally will not be renewed after next month."

"It is now the end of November," said Miss Bull, quite composed. "I understand you to say that the lease expires when December----"

"It ends on the 31st of December," explained James, "and as Mrs. Jersey is dead it will not be renewed. Lord Derrington, so far as I know, has no interest in Miss Margery Watson."

"What interest had he in Mrs. Jersey?" asked Miss Bull, scenting a scandal, and her eyes brightening.

"I can't tell you that, and if I could I would not."

"Quite right. I beg your pardon for asking, but you see in the interests of that poor girl I wish to know exactly how matters stand."

"They stand as I tell you," said James, and rose to go. "I have nothing more to do in the matter and my connection with the late Mrs. Jersey ceases here."

"One moment," said Miss Bull, quietly. "What of the furniture?"

"That is also the property of Lord Derrington. He bought the house as it stood from the executor of the last owner, Mr. Anthony Lockwood, fifteen years ago. Mrs. Jersey wished to set up a boarding-house, so Lord Derrington placed her in here. Every stick in the place belongs to him. Should Miss Watson leave she goes with the jewels, the money in the green box, and with her deceased aunt's clothes."

"A very poor outfit to start life on at her age," said Miss Bull, rising in her prim manner. "By the way, Mr. James, what is the name of the late Mr. Lockwood's executor?"

"Roger Ireland," replied the lawyer, looking rather surprised. "Why do you ask?"

"For my own satisfaction, Mr. James. If no one else will assist this poor girl I shall do so. Good-day."

James departed with a better opinion of Miss Bull, although at any time he had no reason to have a bad one. But her manner inspired mistrust, and, kindly as she appeared to be acting towards Margery, he could not help thinking that there was more in her action than mere philanthropy. "You're a deep one," thought James. "I shouldn't wonder if we heard more of you."

But so far as James was personally concerned he heard no more of the little woman. Miss Bull collected the boarders in the drawing-room after dinner and made a speech. She said that it was Margery Watson's intention to keep on the house, and that the terms would be as before. If any chose to stop they would be welcome, but those who decided to go could have their bills made out at once. Having thus acted as the mouthpiece of Margery, Miss Bull took the girl away to the sitting-room of the late Mrs. Jersey, the very one in which the tragedy had taken place. Margery was unwilling to enter, much less hold a conversation there, but Miss Bull, who had no nerves to speak of and a very strong will, laughed her out of this folly.

"Now my dear Margery," she said, when the girl was seated, "I want you to pay the greatest attention to what I am about to say, and to repeat nothing of my conversation."

"You are my best friend," said Margery, looking at the peaked white face with adoring eyes. "I shall do whatever you say."

"Good child," said Miss Bull, patting the hand that was laid confidingly on her lap. "Listen, child. Lord Derrington is the owner of this house, and he leased it to your aunt by the year--a very strange arrangement, for which there ought to be some explanation. I am going to seek it from Lord Derrington."

"But he won't tell you anything, Miss Bull."

The old maid tightened her thin lips. "I think he will," she said in a rather ominous manner; "at all events, there is no harm in my trying. With regard to the annuity----"

"What annuity?"

"I forgot--you don't know about that. Well, there is no need that you should. But it seems that Lord Derrington allowed your late aunt an annuity of five hundred a year. I don't know the reason why he did so, and as such reason is not pertinent to matters in hand I do not wish to know, but the annuity must lapse. It is not likely that Lord Derrington will continue it to you." She paused and looked at the girl. "Your parents are dead, I believe, Margery?"

"Yes. For many years I have been with my aunt. She was my only relative, dear Miss Bull."

"All the better. I don't want other people interfering," said Miss Bull in her icy way. "Well, Margery, I shall see if I can get Lord Derrington to renew the lease to you, and I shall be your security. With the money in hand--I have counted it, and with that in the bank it amounts to two hundred pounds--we can continue the boarding-house. A few of the boarders will go, but many will remain, as they will not get anywhere so cheap a place. You will be the nominal head of the house, but in reality I shall manage. Do you agree?"

"I am your slave," cried Margery with melodramatic intensity.

"You are my friend," said Miss Bull, her thin lips relaxing. "I am a lonely woman, Margery, though I still have a surviving sister--" her lips tightened again as she said this--"and I love you, my dear, for your goodness. Well, we shall keep on the boarding-house, and you, poor child, will be preserved from the terrible life which would otherwise be your portion."

"How good you are--how good you are!"

"A little selfish also," said Miss Bull, kissing the girl. "I do not wish to leave this place or lose you. I am growing old, and a change would break my heart."

She said this as though she really believed that she possessed such an organ. Mrs. Jersey always said that a heart was lacking in Miss Bull's maiden breast: but certainly the way in which the old woman was treating the helpless girl showed that she was better than she looked. And perhaps--as Mr. James considered--Miss Bull had an ax to grind on her own account.

However this might be, from that moment Miss Bull was in charge of the Amelia Square establishment. Whatever means she used to induce Lord Derrington to consent, she certainly managed to get the lease renewed in Margery's name. Some of the boarders went; but others came in their place, and these being younger added to the gayety of the house. So all was settled, and Miss Bull became a person of importance. She was the power behind the throne, and ruled judiciously. In this way did she do away with the reputation of the house as a place where a crime had been committed. In a year all was forgotten.