She greeted Crewe with friendly warmth in spite of the feeling of
oppression caused by the consciousness of the situation in front of her.
He did not sit down again after greeting her, but stood with one hand
resting on an inlaid chess table, with wonderful carved red and white
Japanese chessmen ranged on each side, which he had been examining when
she entered the room.
"I came down to make my report to you because I think my work is
finished," he said.
"You have found out who killed my father?" she asked quietly.
Crewe had sufficient personal pride to feel a little hurt when he saw the
calm way in which she accepted the result of his investigations, instead
of congratulating him on his success in a difficult task.
"I think so," he said. "Before I tell you who it is you must prepare
yourself for a great shock."
"I know who it is" she said--"Mr. Holymead."
There was no pretence about his astonishment.
"How on earth did you find out?"
She smiled a little at such a revelation of his appreciation of his own
cleverness in having probed the mystery.
"I did not find it out," she said. "I had to be told."
"And who told you, Miss Fewbanks?" he asked.
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