It was all very strange, thought Beatrice, as she walked towards Convent Grange. She had learned much from Orchard and from Mrs. Snow, yet apparently there was more to learn. Who had killed Colonel Hall? Who had murdered Jarvis Alpenny? Was the assassin one and the same? And if she found the assassin, would she learn who possessed the necklace, which seemed to account for both crimes? Finally, did she discover the identity of the assassin and the necklace, would she be able to learn the mystery which lurked in the background of Vivian's life? These were the questions which Beatrice asked herself on the way home.

In spite of Mrs. Snow's assertion and significant tale of the midnight meeting with Alpenny, the girl could not bring herself to believe that her mother was guilty. A woman would never think of cutting a man's throat, and probably when a frail little woman such as Mrs. Hall was reported to have been, would not have the power. Then again, Alpenny was murdered in the same way, and Mrs. Hall had been lying in Hurstable churchyard for years. Also, if Mrs. Hall was guilty, what had the black patch which had reappeared in the second crime to do with the first one? It seemed impossible that these riddles could be answered.

On arriving at the Grange, Beatrice found Dinah and Jerry Snow walking down the avenue. Apparently they had been quarrelling, for they did not walk arm in arm as usual, and Jerry was as sulky as Dinah was tearful. "Whatever is the matter?" asked Beatrice, stopping.

"It's Jerry's cruelty," mourned Dinah, whose sorrow made her look even plainer than usual.

"It's Dinah's foolishness," retorted Jerry, and walked on.

"Come back," cried the girl, "or I'll never, never, never speak to you again. Do you wish to break my heart?"

"You're breaking it yourself," grumbled the young man. All the same, he returned to where the two girls were standing.

"And after all I have put up with from your mother," complained Dinah.

"Oh! leave my mother alone."

"I wish she would leave me alone. She is always highly disagreeable to me. I believe it is a family failing," concluded Dinah spitefully.

"Don't marry me, then."

"I don't intend to--you--you bear!"

Beatrice listened to all this with covert amusement. She knew that the two loved one another too well to think of parting, whatever might be the grounds of their quarrel. "Come, come," she said soothingly, and prepared to play the part of peacemaker. "What is the matter? Is Jerry jealous?"

"No," snapped Dinah. "I am--very jealous. He"--she pointed to Jerry, who still looked sulky--"has been flirting with another girl. I was in the village an hour ago, and there was Jerry as bold as brass talking to a red-haired minx, who squinted."

"She doesn't squint," growled Jerry.

"There, you see; he defends her."

"Dinah!" cried Jerry in desperation, "how can you be so silly? I love you and you only."

"You love that horrid girl. I saw her looking at you."

"A cat may look at a king."

"She certainly is a cat, though you're not a king."

"Well," said Beatrice, preparing to move on, "I am going back to the house, and you two can settle it yourselves."

Dinah clung to her friend. "No. I won't be left alone with Jerry."

"Well, then, explain," said Beatrice impatiently, for she had too many worries of her own to take any profound interest in the frivolous ones of these milk-and-water lovers.

"I'll explain," said Mr. Snow defiantly. "There is a young lady I know in London----"

"Young!" cried Dinah; "she's thirty-five, and painted."

"Well, then, she came down here to the inn, and I met her outside. She exchanged a few words with me, and said that she wanted to know the nearest way to the Downs. It seems that her father is a shepherd on the Downs--a man called Orchard."

"What?" cried Beatrice, disengaging herself from Dinah's too fond embrace. She could scarcely believe her ears. That she should come from seeing the ex-butler for the first time, to stumble--so to speak--across his daughter, was indeed an extraordinary coincidence.

Jerry looked at her amazed, as he could not understand her tone. "Why do you look so astonished?" he asked.

"I have only lately come down from seeing Orchard," she said. "Oh, by the way, Dinah," she added, turning to the girl, "Vivian came back with you from Brighton?"

"No," said Dinah crossly; "he had to see someone, and will not be back until late. I came home myself, and passed through the village to see Jerry making love to that horrid girl. And Jerry had the coolness to follow me."

"Only to explain," urged Jerry. "Come, Dinah, don't be silly. I know the lady only a little; she is on one of the papers belonging to our editorial firm, and does the fashion column."

"She might dress better, then," retorted Dinah crossly, and determined not to be appeased. "I saw cheapness in every line of her dress."

"Ah," said Jerry artfully, "she cannot set off a dress like you."

"Don't be silly," cried Miss Paslow, but smiled for all that.

"What is this lady's name?" asked Beatrice.

"Lady!"--Dinah tossed her head--"when her father is a shepherd, and, I dare say, a very bad one."

"Miss Maud Carr is her name," said Mr. Snow, ignoring Dinah, much to her wrath.

"Maud!" Beatrice remembered that this was also the name of Vivian's dead wife, and again wondered at the long arm of coincidence.

"I know very little about it or her," said Jerry in an injured tone, "save that she writes about women's fashions. We have met at journalistic clubs in London, and, of course, when I saw her I passed the time of day with her."

"You passed an hour," snapped Dinah, "and very pleasantly, I'm sure."

"She's not a bit ashamed of her birth," continued Jerry, still ignoring Dinah as a punishment. "I never knew her father was a shepherd in London, but she confessed it to me here quite easily."

"That's her artfulness," commented Dinah. "Why are you so curious about this woman?" she asked Beatrice.

The girl shrugged her shoulders. "I am not curious," she denied; "but as I have just seen old Orchard, it is strange that his daughter should have been speaking to Jerry."

"Not at all, Beatrice. Jerry is always fond of these painted, horrid women, who never pay for their dresses because they write for fashion papers. I should be ashamed to earn my living in that way.--Well"--she faced round to the impenitent Mr. Snow--"and what have you to say?"

"Nothing," said Jerry crossly. "You are always nagging, Dinah."

"After that!" cried Miss Paslow, looking up to see why the heavens did not fall. "Well, I'm--I'm----" Words failed her, and she turned her back. "I'm going home. All is at an end!" and she sped up the avenue, glancing back meanwhile on occasions to see if Jerry followed.

But Jerry did nothing of the sort, and explained to Beatrice why he stood his ground. "Dinah needs a lesson," he said gravely. "You have no idea how she nags at me. I can't speak to any one without her getting into a pelting rage."

"It shows how she loves you," said Beatrice soothingly.

"I don't want to be loved in that selfish way. It's just like mother: she wants all one's affection, and nags the whole time, saying it is for my good. I've had quite enough of that in mother, without taking it on in a wife. I want a woman who will cheer me up, and look upon me as something to be looked up to. But I'll punish her," said Jerry wrathfully. "She expects me to run after her. I won't; I'll stay here and talk to you."

"I'm busy," said Beatrice, taking a step or two away. "I have to go to The Camp to see Durban."

"You needn't. He's at Convent Grange looking for you."

"Oh! Then I'll go to him at once."

"Better wait to hear what I have to say," urged Jerry; "it's about the murder of Mr. Alpenny."

Beatrice stopped short, wondering what she was about to hear. "Have you discovered anything?" she asked breathlessly.

"I can't say if what I have discovered is of any use," explained Mr. Snow, "but it might put the police on the track of the assassins."

"What have you found out?"

"Well, I was down Whitechapel the oth............