She communicated the new facts to her uncle on his return to Deanery Street. Morrice said little, but a pitying look came over his face as he noticed how pale and sad she looked. He laid his hand upon her shoulder with a kindly gesture.
“Give it up, my poor little girl, give it up before it breaks your heart. Steel yourself to face the fact that Richard Croxton, by his own act, has passed away from your life.”
But she would have none of that. Her voice was pleading but half indignant as she cried out in her pain: “Oh, uncle dear, do not ever say that to me again. I know, I feel it in my heart, that a day will come when you will regret bitterly that you spoke those words.”
The hardest task was when she had to tell her lover that the mystery, so far from approaching solution, was deepened by what had happened. Richard took it calmly to all appearance, but she noticed that the depression which had been temporarily lifted by the discovery of those strange finger-prints, seemed to settle on him again.
“Oh, Dick, my poor darling,” she cried tearfully; “how I wish we were not going to Mürren! I think I shall ask uncle to let me stay behind so that I can come and cheer you.”
But he would not hear of that. It seemed as if he was beginning to realize that he must pass out of her life, as Morrice had put it, and that the sooner the separation began the better for both.
So a week before Christmas a sad group of three started for Switzerland, an expedition they had all so looked forward to when Richard Croxton was to have been one of the party.
And some days before they left a cable from Australia arrived at Lane’s office, and as he read it, his eyes gleamed. That inspiration of his had been true. The contents of that cable were communicated to Sellars in a brief note:—
“You will remember I attached great importance to the details you obtained for me about Archibald Brookes, the brother of Sir George, who went to Australia. A certain inspiration came to me on that subject which I did not tell you of at the time for fear it might lead to nothing. I cabled out to an old colleague of mine in that country to make certain inquiries. I have heard from him to-day. It is true that Archibald Brookes died in Melbourne, but he was a bachelor and consequently left no children. Therefore the tale Sir George told his old friend is a lie, and the story of Mrs. Morrice’s sister being married to his brother is a fabrication. Here is another mystery in the Morrice household which must be unravelled.”