"Well, at that time I could not help having just a suspicion that Mr. Brown must be mixed up in it in some way, and it seemed to me that I should not be quite at ease if I let matters go on without doing anything, so I—well, this young man came down here to see whether he could find out anything."
Mr. Thurwell seldom frowned at his daughter, of whom he was secretly a little afraid, but he did so now. He was seriously angry.
"It was not a matter for you to have concerned yourself in at all," he said, rising from his seat. "At least, I should have been consulted."
"It was all very foolish, I know," she admitted humbly.
"It was worse than foolish; it was wrong and undutiful," he declared. "I am astonished that my daughter should have mixed herself up with such underhand work. And may I ask why I was kept in ignorance?"
"Because you would not have allowed me to do what I did," she said quietly, with downcast eyes. "I thought it was my duty. I have been punished—punished severely."
He softened a little, and resumed his seat. She was certainly very contrite. He was silent for a moment or two, and then asked her a question.
"Did this young man—detective, I suppose he was—find out anything about Mr. Brown?"
She looked up, a little surprised at the curiosity in his tone.
"Why, papa, it was I who found out how stupid I had been," she said. "When I discovered that our mysterious tenant was Bernard Maddison, of course I saw the absurdity of suspecting him at once."