"Come and sit down, and close the door," said the father. "I wish to speak about this."
"Merry junior was a stout young man of twenty-one, quite as cheerful-looking as his respected progenitor. But he had a pair of sharp grey eyes which always set people on their guard. For this reason he was not so successful as his father in dealing with suspicious clients. In a year Merry hoped to be a full-fledged solicitor, and then intended to become his father's partner. Meanwhile, as he was remarkably sharp, and had the firm's interest at heart, Merry senior frequently consulted him. At the present moment he intended to discuss the death of Mrs. Brand.
"I can't understand why you did not show me this yesterday," he said.
"I never saw it," explained the son. "The fact is, I don't take in that rag." He pointed disdainfully to the paper. "But I picked it up in a railway carriage while going home last night, and wrapped a bag of fruit in it. This morning I happened to use some of the paper while shaving, and my eyes caught the paragraph. I would have shown it to you at once, but you had already started for the office. I therefore saved the torn pieces, and brought it in as soon as I arrived."
"There's nothing about this death in the other papers," said his father.
"No. I remember the case though. The woman was murdered at Ajax Villa, Troy, and there was a great deal of fuss made over the matter, owing to the strangeness of the affair. It's queer that the similarity of the rooms should prove to be the means of identification."
"You think there can be no doubt about the woman?"
"Oh, it must be Mrs. Brand. You see, the detective--or is he an inspector?--identified her by the photograph. There's something behind all this which I can't understand."
"You mean about the murder?"
"Well--yes," said the son. "And about the search made in the house by this man--what's his name?--Derrick. I wonder he did not find our letters to Mrs. Brand, and come at once to see us."