"No, thank you, mother," said Maud, shuddering, "I have heard quite enough of my poor father's terrible death," and she swept out of the drawing-room with a gracious smile.
"The poor child is so sensitive," sighed Mrs. Krill, taking a seat with her back to the window. Whether this was done to conceal her age, or the expression of her face during a conversation which could not fail to prove trying, Hurd was unable to determine. "I trust, Mr. Hurd, you have come with good news," said the widow.
"What would you call good news?" asked the detective, dryly.
"That you had traced the assassin," she replied coolly.
Hurd was amazed at this brazen assurance, and thought that Mrs. Krill must be quite convinced that she had covered up every trail likely to lead to the discovery of her connection with the murder.
"I'll leave you to judge whether I have been successful," he said calmly.
"I shall be pleased to hear," was the equally calm reply. But as Mrs. Krill spoke she glanced towards a gorgeous tapestry curtain at the end of the room, and Hurd fancied he saw it shake. It suddenly occurred to him that Maud was behind. Why she should choose this secret way of listening when she could have remained it was difficult to say, and he half thought he was mistaken. However, listening openly or secretly, did not matter so far as the daughter was concerned, so Hurd addressed himself to Mrs. Krill in a loud and cheerful voice. She composed herself to listen with a bland smile, and apparently was quite ignorant that there was anything wrong.
"I was lately down at Christchurch, madam—"
"So my servant, Matilda Junk, said."