“Our meeting is in very tragic circumstances, Mr Stratfield,” the Captain observed huskily, his grave face unusually pale. “They told me that you had discovered poor Nelly, but I had not the pleasure of your acquaintance, although I had, of course, heard of you often from the villagers.”
Liane and George looked at one another significantly.
“I must regret your sad bereavement, and both you and Liane have my sincerest sympathy,” the young man answered.
The Captain glanced quickly at the Baronet’s son with a strange, puzzled expression. He had spoken of his daughter familiarly by her Christian name, and evidently knew her well. He had not before suspected this.
At that moment, however, the door opened, and a constable putting his head inside called his name. In obedience to the policeman’s request he rose and followed him into the room wherein the court of inquiry had assembled. Having advanced to the table and been sworn, the Coroner addressing him, said,—
“Your name is Captain Erle Brooker, late of the Guards, I believe?”
“Yes.”
“And you identify the body of the deceased. Who was she?”
“Helen Mary Bridson, daughter of a brother officer, Captain Bridson. She was left an orphan eleven years ago, and I brought her up.”
“Did her father die in London?”