The Ponson Case

that his trouble could make any difference to her. He must be made to feel she was not leaving him in the lurch.

But how was she to communicate with him?

She did not know whether he would be allowed to receive letters, but she fancied not. At all events there might be a delay in their delivery. She thought for a few moments, and then she took a sheet of paper and wrote as follows:

“Dear Mr. Tanner: I have received the letter from Mr. Ponson which you were good enough to permit him to write and I wish to convey to you my grateful thanks for your consideration. In case it should be contrary to the rules for him to receive my reply direct, I write to ask whether you could possibly see your way to convey to him this message⁠—first, that I will not hear of our engagement being broken off; on the contrary, I am going to announce it immediately, and second, that though I know it is unnecessary to assure him of my absolute belief in him and in his innocence, I still wish to do so in the strongest manner possible.

“I thought you were exceedingly kind on the day you called here, and I am sure that if you can do me this great favour you will.

“Yours sincerely,

“Lois Drew.”

She addressed the envelope to “Inspector Tanner, Criminal Investigation Department, New Scotland Yard, London,” marking it “Personal.” Then putting on her hat, she walked quickly to the post office and dropped the letter into the receiver. She thought that many of the passersby looked at her curiously, but she was too much absorbed in her own thoughts to care.

As she turned homewards it suddenly occurred to her that her cousin Jimmy might help her. Mr. James Daunt was junior partner of a London firm of solicitors, a clever, and she believed, a rising man, and who would have all the knowledge of the possibilities of the case which she lacked. Moreover, Jimmy was a decent soul, and a good friend of her own. They had seen a lot of each other as children, and she felt he would help her if he could.

She turned into the local telephone office and put through a call. Mr. James Daunt was in his office. If she came to town he could see her at five o’clock.

She travelled up by the 3:30 train, and at the hour named mounted the steps of the old house in Lincoln’s Inn. She was soon in her cousin’s room.

“Hallo old girl!” he greeted her when the door had closed. “Jolly to see you. It’s not often you take pity on a lonely old bachelor like this. Sit down, won’t you?”

She sank back into a deep, leather-lined armchair. They talked commonplaces for a few moments, and then Lois referred to the object of her call. She found it much harder to begin than she had expected, but when her cousin understood she was really in trouble he dropped his somewhat breezy manner and became serious and sympathetic.

“Have you had tea?” he asked, interrupting her story.

“Not yet. I came direct from the station.”

“Then not a word till you’ve had it,” he declared. “Come out to a quiet little place I know. We can talk there without interruption.”

Though she had not realised it, Lois was almost fainting for food. She had not eaten any lunch, and now the hot stimulant and the fresh rolls and butter did her more good than she could have thought possible. She smiled across at him.

“I believe I was dying of hunger,” she announced.

“Just like you,” he retorted, “at your old games again. Always thinking of somebody else, and forgetting your own much more important self.”

“Well, you’ve probably saved my life. And now, Jimmy, I do want your help.”

“I know, old girl. I don’t need to tell you I’ll do everything I can. Just start in and let’s have the whole story. You don’t mind if I smoke?”

“Of course not. The first thing I have to tell you is⁠—that I have become engaged to be married.”

“By Jove, you have!” cried Jimmy, jumping up and holding out his hand. “I hadn’t an inkling there was anything in the wind. Best possible congratulations, old girl. I think a cousinly salutation⁠—” they were alone in an alcove, and he kissed her lightly on the cheek. “And who’s the lucky man, if it’s not a secret?”

“Ah, there’s no luck in it, Jimmy. That’s what I’ve come about. It’s Austin Ponson.”

“Austin Ponson? How do you mean no luck? Why, dear girl, I congratulate you again. I have heard of him, and always that he was a white man through and through.”

Tears trembled on Lois’s long eyelashes. It took all her strength of will to speak in her normal tone.

“Dear Jimmy, you can’t think what it means to me to hear you say that. You evidently don’t know what has happened. He’s in frightful trouble.”

Jimmy looked his question.

“He’s just been arrested on the charge”⁠—Lois’s lip quivered in spite of herself⁠—“of murdering his father.”

Her cousin whistled.

“Good Lord!” he cried, “you don’t say so? Poor old girl.”

“It’s terrible. Oh, Jimmy, what are we to do?”

“It’s damnable. But you musn’t be downhearted. Many and many a man has been arrested for a crime he has known nothing about. Don’t get upset till we’re sure there is something to be upset about. Tell me the details.”

She told him all she knew; of Austin’s visit at eleven on the fatal night, of the hoax that had been played on him, of their learning of Sir William’s disappearance the next day, of the inquest and its adjournment, of Tanner’s visit to her, of the adjourned inquest, and of Austin’s note, and her reply to it. He listened in silence till she had finished.

“And you have no idea what this new evidence is?” he asked at last.

“None whatever.”

“Our first step will be to find that out. I think