CHAPTER VIII.

Enter Mr. Allery

After the inquest there was nothing to keep Miss Watson in London. A sad cortège started from Leveson Square after dark, for, in the circumstances, they had no wish for public display.

The body of the dead statesman was being taken to Devonshire for burial. In all the arrangements Collins had played an important but unobtrusive part, and now, on the departure platform, he had quietly seen to her comfort in the little ways a woman appreciates.

Papers were ready, seats booked at the dining table, and the carriage reserved by a well-tipped guard.

Eric Sanders had already gone on, as it was necessary to go through all the dead man’s papers, and, as private secretary, he was assisting the police in this matter.

An aged and lachrymose aunt had turned up from somewhere, and was acting chaperon.

The old nurse had been relegated to what the aunt called her proper place. Collins had completely won the heart of the old nurse with an easy courtesy which is neither patronage nor familiarity, and she had sworn by him ever since he had taken them to the theatre. On that occasion he had, with great tact, laid himself out to amuse the old lady, while Mabel was left to her sulky Eric, which accentuated the contrast.

Now he had taken as much care in seeing to the comfort of the two old servants (for the butler was going back with them), as with Miss Watson herself—a fact she was quick to note and appreciate.

They were standing on the platform, waiting for the train to start, and Mabel gave him her hand.

“I am most awfully grateful to you for all you have done,” she said. “I don’t know how I should have got on without you. This has been a very trying time, but it would have been far worse but for your management.” He was pleased at the compliment.

“It has been a real pleasure to do what I could, and no trouble, for I have had to be in the thick of things, from my position.”

A cloud crossed her face.

“Yes, of course. You are trying to find the criminal.”

“I am trying first to find your brother.”

“Oh, I hope you do. It would be so comforting at this time if he were here.”

“I will let you know directly I hear anything.”

“Oh, but I hope you will do more than that. You must come and see us when we are more settled,” she added wistfully.

They were joined by Mr. Allery, the senior partner of Allery & Watkins, the family lawyers. Collins and he had seen a good deal of each other during these few days, and had grown to like each other.

He took Mabel’s hand in a fatherly way.

“Now, you must not get down there and fret and worry. It’s all terribly sad, but you are young, and when you have got over the first grief, you must rouse yourself up. There’s nothing worse than moping.”

“Then the best way you can help is to come and see me,” she said with a smile, “and bring Mr. Collins with you. You are both golfers, and there are several excellent links near us.”

“I shall be delighted,” said the lawyer. “I need a change. Only you must remind me, or I shall never come,” and he laughed in a genial, full-blooded way.

He had a charming, old-world courtesy, and what in doctors is called a good bedside manner.

The train moved off, leaving the two men standing on the platform.

“Poor girl,” said Allery. “I have known her since she was a baby. It’s a sad blow to her, but, between ourselves, it may be a good thing. Sir James was a fine man, but he was very selfish with her. She was absolutely tied up with him, and could go nowhere. He warned off all possible suitors, and made her live the life of a nun.”

“I gather that Sanders rather bit his fingers there.” Allery looked at him shrewdly.

“You haven’t taken long to find that out,” he said. “Yes, I believe he