"I haven't had time to get proper mourning," she said, sinking into a chair. "Mrs. Perth is furbishing up an old dress for to-morrow."
"I wasn't thinking of that," said Jarman, mendaciously. "Have some wine, Miss Starth? You look so tired."
"I'm worn out. That awful inquest, and poor Walter's death." She hid her face in her hands. "It's all so sudden, so terrible! I have been in bed ever since I returned."
"So Mrs. Perth told me. I know the verdict."
"Do you think it is a true one?" asked Mildred, suddenly.
Jarman was taken aback. "How should I know?"
"The jury say that Mr. Lancaster killed Walter. But as I was leaving the room someone--I don't know who--slipped a paper into my hand. I have brought it to you, as I can't understand."
She handed Jarman half a sheet of notepaper. On it was written in an unformed, childish hand three words--"Frank. Innocent. Tamaroo!"
"Tamaroo!" Jarman leaped up. "Tamaroo! What does it mean?"