"The latest discovery must have come rather as a relief," Gifford ventured tentatively.
"The marks on my dress you mean?" She laughed. "So far that I now share with Muriel Tredworth the suspicion of knowing all about the tragedy."
"Hardly that," Gifford replied with a smile. "There can be no cause for that fear. By the way," he added more seriously, "I owe you an account of my failure to gain any information for you with regard to Mr. Gervase Henshaw's plans."
"He is not communicative?" Miss Morriston suggested casually.
Gifford shook his head. "No, I am never able to get hold of him. In fact, it seems as though he rather makes a point of avoiding us. And if we do meet, he is vagueness and reticence personified."
They were walking slowly back along the shrubbery path. The girl turned to him for an instant, her expression softened in a look of gratitude. "It is very kind of you, Mr. Gifford, to take all this trouble for us. And I am sure it is not your fault that the result is not what you might wish. It was rather absurd of me to set you the task. But I am none the less grateful. Please think that, and do not bother about it any more."
"But if the man is likely to annoy you," he urged. "Have you longer any reason to fear him?"
She turned swiftly. "Fear him? What do you mean?"
"We thought he might be unscrupulous and might make himself objectionable."
She shrugged. "I dare say it is possible."