All her business-like calm had disappeared now she was that most distracting of all pictures of woman, a pretty girl overwhelmed with grief. She crouched curled upon the sofa, with shoulders heaving, sobbing as though her heart would break.
“Perhaps you would like me to leave you?” Desmond asked. “Let me ring for your friends... I am sure you would rather be alone!”
She raised a tear-stained face to his, her long lashes glittering.
“No, no,” she said, “don’t go, don’t go! I want your help. This is such a dark and dreadful business, more than I ever realized. Oh, my poor daddy, my poor daddy!”
Again she hid her face in her hands and cried whilst Desmond stood erect by her aide, compassionate but very helpless.
After a little, she dabbed her eyes with a tiny square of cambric, and sitting up, surveyed the other.
“I must go to the Chief at once,” she said, “it is most urgent. Would you ring and ask the maid to telephone for a taxi?”
“I have one outside,” answered Desmond. “But won’t you tell me what has happened?”
“Why,” said Barbara, “it has only just dawned on me why our house was broken into last night and poor daddy so cruelly murdered! Whoever robbed the house did not come after our poor little bits of silver or daddy’s savings in the desk in the dining room. They came after something that I had!”
“And what was that” asked Desmond.