“Just so,” said the inspector.

 

“Won’t you tell me what it is that has been stolen?”

 

“We’re not quite—certain,” said the inspector hesitatingly.

 

A wide look of alarm came into the girl’s eyes. She started up.

 

“What is it? You’re hiding something from me?”

 

Moving in his usual unobtrusive manner, Hector Blunt came between her and the

inspector. She half stretched out her hand, and he took it in both of his,

patting it as though she were a very small child, and she turned to him as

though something in his stolid, rocklike demeanor promised comfort and safety.

 

“It’s bad news, Flora,” he said quietly. “Bad news for all of us. Your Uncle

Roger——”

 

“Yes?”

 

“It will be a shock to you. Bound to be. Poor Roger’s dead.”

 

Flora drew away from him, her eyes dilating with horror.

 

“When?” she whispered. “When?”