"Do you know who this messenger was?"
"One of the policemen on duty in the house itself."
A slight pause ensued, and Brett was about to take his departure, having no further questions to ask at the moment, when some one was heard hastily ascending the stairs, talking to a companion as he advanced.
"This is my uncle," exclaimed Miss Talbot, rising to go to the door. Before she could reach it an elderly gentleman entered, bearing upon him all those distinguishing tokens that stamp a man as a retired major-general.
He exclaimed impetuously—
"I have brought a gentleman from Scotland Yard, my dear." Then he caught sight of Brett. "Who is this?"
Edith was about to explain, when another man entered—a strongly-built, bullet-headed man, with keen eyes and firm mouth, and a curious suggestion in his appearance of having combined pugilism with process-serving as a professional means of existence. His face extended into a smile when his eyes fell upon the barrister.
"Ah, Mr. Brett," he cried. "Now we have something to do that is up to your mark. You are on the spot first, as usual, but this time I can honestly say that I am glad to see you."
Sir Hubert Fitzjames glanced in astonishment from his niece to the barrister. He could find nothing better to say than—
"This, my dear, is Mr. Winter, of Scotland Yard."