Presently she began to speak. Her voice was dull and toneless as she explained that she had known her father was lately terribly worried and unhappy, and that though he had made light of it, he had told her enough to show that financial trouble was at the root of his distress. He had said to her on one occasion that if only the insurance people would pay, things would be easier, but he had spoken cheerily, and she had had no idea things were so serious.
“When shall we get details?” she asked presently. “Should I go over to the Hook?”
“I fear there would be little use in that,” French answered, “and it would certainly be painful for you. Of course, I don’t wish to dissuade you; if you think it would be an ease to your mind you should go. But in any case would it not be better to wait until you read your letter? Besides, the report from the Dutch police may show that a visit is unnecessary.”
She thought for some seconds, then agreed. French explained that the documents might be expected by the first post on the following morning, and promised to take them out to Hampstead immediately.
“In the meantime, Miss Duke,” he went on, with real kindness in his tone, “it’s not my business, of course, but would you not be better to have some one in the house with you—some lady friend, an aunt, a cousin? Or Mr. Harrington? I mean, is there anything that I can do to take a message or send a wire?”
Her eyes filled with tears as she thanked him and asked him to telephone to the office for Harrington. It appeared that she had no near relations. She was an only child, and her father was now dead, and French knew that for many years her poor mother had been worse than dead, dragging out a colourless existence in a mental hospital at Otterham.
When he had put through his call, French took his leave. There was nothing more to be done until the details of the tragedy were received.
As he sat in the tube on his way back to the Yard, he was conscious of some misgivings as to the way in which he had handled the interview. He had done his best to make it easy for Miss Duke. This was, of course, the natural and the kindly thing to do, but was it his duty? Should he not rather have used the news as a lever to startle some admission out of the girl which would have given him the information which he suspected she possessed. If he had allowed a promising clue to slip he had neglected his duty and injured himself. And his chief was no fool. He would unfailingly see the possibility and ask what use had been made of it.
But though French felt thus a trifle uneasy, he could not bring himself to regret his course of action. He was not only a man of natural kindliness of heart, but he had the gift of imagination. He saw himself in the girl’s place, and was glad he had not added to her trouble.
Next morning the report came from Holland, together with Miss Duke’s letter. The former was a long document giving very complete details of the tragedy. The essential portions of it read: