“I fully agree with you.”
“Well now, in spite of the jury’s verdict that my daughter died of shock, it must have been patent to you, and I fear also to others, that the poor child took her life. Why she should have done so has puzzled me ever since, for I can think no reason which might have prompted her to do it. She had, however, a friend, I may say a great friend, of whom it now appears that nobody knows anything except that she is apparently a very well-to-do woman. Strange rumors concerning her have been repeated to me of late, and putting two and two together, it seems to me possible that this friend of hers might, if she wished to, be able to solve the mystery. Now, why won’t she? Can you tell me that?”
“Who is the woman, m’lord?” Stothert asked. “Anything you tell us will, of course, be considered private and confidential.”
“Yes, please consider this private. The woman you will probably know. Her name is Mervyn-Robertson.” Stothert and his companion exchanged a meaning glance. “Ah, I see you do know her,” Lord Froissart said quickly.
“Indeed we do, m’lord, that is to say, by name. We know a lot about her.”
“And is what you know favorable, or is it—er—the other thing?”
“Certainly ‘the other thing.’ More than that we must not say. And so you wish us to find out who and what she is, where she comes from, and so forth?”
“If you can.”
“That will not be difficult. Already we can tell you that her birthplace was Australia; also that her parents were sheep farmers in Queensland.”
“Oh! That sounds quite respectable.”