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could be of service to her.
    “Colonel Fenshawe,” she said earnestly, “I have been thinking a great deal about what Mr. Prentiss told us concerning Papa’s affairs, and there is still much that I cannot understand. My father was a man of moderate tastes, and lived quietly, without extravagance of any kind. He did not gamble or speculate. Yet he died at the point of ruin, even though two years ago he was a rich man. How could he have lost so much in so short a time?”
    The Colonel shook his head. “My child, that is a question which neither I nor any man can answer. Your concern is natural, but there is nothing to be gained by brooding over the mystery.”
    “You agree, however, that there is a mystery?”
    “Only in so far as your father chose to keep his own counsel. I have no doubt that there is a simple explanation, did we but know it.”
    “I must know it, sir!” she said desperately. “I shall never be able to rest until I do. I have come to ask you to help me.”
    There was a pause. The Colonel took out his snuff-box, helped himself to a pinch, and then closed the box again and sat looking down at the design on its enamelled surface. At last he said quietly:
    “My dear Miss Tarrant, I realize that at present the recent terrible events occupy your mind to the exclusion of all else, but it will not always be so. You are young, and must endeavour to put this tragedy behind you. Whatever reason your father had for disposing of his fortune, it is plain that he did not wish you to know of it, or he would have left some written explanation before he took his life. There was no such document. I was with Mr. Prentiss when he went through your father’s papers, and there was not a single word among them to throw any light upon the mystery. I counsel you to leave it so.”
    Charmian shook her head. “Colonel Fenshawe, I cannot! Do you think I can go through life with that question unanswered? I have thought and thought, and only one explanation occurs to me. I believe that someone cheated Papa out of his fortune.”
    Again there was a pause. Fenshawe regarded her with an expression she could not read, for the frown in his eyes might have indicated perplexity, disbelief or even disapproval. Certainly he offered her no encouragement to continue, but she forced herself to do so even in the face of this apparent indifference.
    “If that is so,” she resumed at length, “it must surely be possible to discover who did so, and how it was done. I understand that you will shortly be returning to London. When you do so, I beg that you will inform Mr. Prentiss of my suspicions, and ask him to do whatever he thinks necessary to discover the. truth.”
    “To what end?” Fenshawe asked in a cold voice. “Even if what you suspect is true, I can see no way of discovering it.”
    “But Papa must have disposed of many thousands of pounds in the past two years. Such sums as that cannot disappear without trace.”
    “Perhaps not, but even if the money could be traced, and the identity of the supposed criminal established, what would you gain? It is out of the question that the money could be recovered.”
    “I never imagined, sir, that it could be, nor must you think that I am prompted by the desire for vengeance. But if such a criminal does exist, then surely it is our duty to try to expose him, and so save others from similar suffering?” She paused, studying his face with some perplexity, for he was still looking decidedly forbidding. She moved her hands in a helpless gesture. “It may be that nothing can be done, but I feel that I owe it to my father’s memory to see that the attempt is made. If I write a letter to Mr. Prentiss, will you see that it reaches him?”
    Fenshawe did not reply at once. He got up and walked to the window, which offered, beyond park and garden, a distant glimpse of the sea, and stood there with his back to her for perhaps two minutes. It seemed that he was deliberating, and Charmian waited in