"I don't recognise that as an authority. But if you will give me your address in town, I'll come and see you and talk about my dear mother. I want to know everything about her."

"I can tell you nothing," said Lady Watson tartly; "that is, I won't, unless you come as my companion."

"Lady Watson, I thank you very much for your offer; but I go to the Grange, and as I am already overdue, I must leave you now. Good-day."

She held out her hand, which Lady Watson waved aside. "You provoking girl, I won't say good-day. I am stopping with Mrs. Snow, and will come and see you at the Grange. Give me a kiss"; and before Beatrice could stop her, Lady Watson kissed her warmly. When the little woman drew back, Beatrice saw to her surprise that the bright brown eyes were filled with tears.

[CHAPTER X]

MRS. LILLY'S STORY

The funeral was over, and Jarvis Alpenny was buried beside the wife whom--according to rumour--he had so cruelly neglected. The excitement about his mysterious death was apparently buried with him, and Hurstable again became a somnolent hamlet, devoid of news and intelligence. In spite of every effort, the police were unable to trace the man with the black patch. No one seemed to know anything about him, and he had vanished as completely as though the earth had swallowed him up. The local and London papers made their usual crass remarks about the inactivity and uselessness of the police, and, save in a rare paragraph, ceased to notice the matter. The murder was only a nine hours' wonder after all.

Lady Watson went away from the Rectory without calling upon Beatrice, as she had promised. Perhaps this was because she had unpleasant recollections of Convent Grange, or perhaps on account of a short conversation she had with Durban after Beatrice left The Camp. But whatever might be her reason, she did not again ask Miss Hedge to become her companion, nor did she call or even write. With her twenty thousand a year she returned to London, and left The Camp in charge of Durban, who still continued to inhabit his old quarters. Sometimes he came over to see Beatrice, and appeared to be more devoted than ever to the girl. But he said nothing about the various mysteries he had hinted at, nor did Beatrice inquire very closely what they might be. She saw very plainly that both Durban and Vivian were determined that she should know as little as possible--for what reason she could not imagine--and therefore, in pursuance of her determination, she cast about to find some path which might lead to a discovery of the truth, whatever that might be. She wished to learn who had killed Alpenny, and thought that, by examining into his past life, she might be able to learn something of his enemies. Once she discovered who disliked him, and the reason of such dislike, she fancied that she might lay her hand on the assassin. But there was no one to tell her of Alpenny's past, as both Durban and Vivian kept silent. But as, according to Mrs. Snow, the murderer of Colonel Hall was the assassin of Jarvis Alpenny, Beatrice determined to learn all she could about the earlier crime, in the hope that her discoveries in that direction might enable her to elucidate the mystery of the later murder.

Mrs. Lilly was the best person to apply to for a history of Colonel Hall's untimely fate, as she had been housekeeper to the Paslows for many, many years. Beatrice, during the first fortnight of her stay, hinted that she would like to hear about the tragedy, and Mrs. Lilly, after some hesitation, promised to tell her what she knew. Accordingly, Beatrice, two weeks after the burial of her stepfather, was seated in the Grange garden waiting for the housekeeper. Mrs. Lilly had first to attend to her work, but promised that as soon as it was ended she would come out and chat. As Dinah had gone over to the Rectory to see Mrs. Snow, Beatrice was quite alone. She did not count Vivian, as he scarcely stopped an entire day at the Grange, and very rarely a night. Some business took him constantly to London, but what it might be the girl could not guess. After that abrupt conversation in The Camp, the two said very little to one another. It was a strange wooing, and extremely unsatisfactory.

The garden of Convent Grange was delightful, as was the house, although both were somewhat dilapidated. The ancient red brick mansion had been--as Mrs. Snow had informed Beatrice--a convent in the reign of that arch-iconoclast, Henry VIII. When his greedy hand was laid upon ecclesiastical property, he had bestowed the convent on Amyas Paslow, who promptly turned out the nuns, to house himself and his family. But there was some curse on the place and on the race, for the family never prospered overmuch, and when the property came to Vivian Paslow, he was as poor as an English gentleman of long descent well can be. Nevertheless, he still clung to the old mansion, although he could have sold it at an advantageous price to an American millionaire. In some wonderful way he managed to scrape enough money together to pay the interest on the mortgage to Alpenny, and thus had kept a roof over his head and that of Dinah. Lately, as he had told Beatrice under the oak, he had inherited a small sum of money from an aunt, and thus things were easier with him. The girl fancied that it must be business connected with the paying-off of the mortgage that took him so often to London; but on this point he gave her no information.