"It is all of a piece," replied Fanks, "the one death is connected with the other; how, I am unable to say at present. In the face of it, I can hardly bring myself to believe that Emma Calvert is dead."
"Robert swears that she is," said Garth, with a shrug.
"I do, I do, I swear it," wailed the man. "I saw her buried."
The tones of the wretched creature were so heart-rending that both his listeners believed that he spoke the truth. The detective placed the portrait, the pasteboard star, and the envelope containing the slips of print in his pocket, and beckoned to Garth. "We can do no more good here," he said in a low tone. "I must think out the matter by myself; let us go away."
"But Robert?"
"I shall stay here, sir," said the servant, rising; "Mr. Vaud said that I was to stay here until Sir Louis Fellenger came to town."
"Who is Mr. Vaud?" demanded Fanks.
"Oh, he is Fellenger's lawyer," explained Garth, quickly, "of the firm of Vaud and Vaud, of Lincoln's Inn Fields. I was wondering why my cousin had not come up to take possession of the property; but it appears that he is ill."
"Was he not at the funeral?"
"Yes, and, mighty bad he looked; he must have taken to his bed since. I suppose that not finding himself able to come he sent for Mr. Vaud."