J. S. Fletcher

“ Come to the morning-room, gentlemen, if you please—there's a good fire there, by now; this room's never used, and it's too cold to stay in."
The three men followed the old butler across the hall to the room in which Harborough had talked to Harry and Valencia the previous evening. And there, escorted by Chilford, the brother and sister presently joined them. One glance at their faces made the Chief Constable turn to Mr. Fransemmery with a sigh of relief.
"Good!" he whispered. "Cool as cucumbers! Know how to control their feelings!—sure sign of old blood and good breeding that! ”

“ Fransemmery.
"Markenmore Hollow is on the side of the downs' path to Mitbourne," he whispered, in an aside. "You've not seen or heard of him since he went out of this house at ten-thirty, then, Braxfield?" he went on, turning again to the old butler. "Heard—nothing?"
"I, sir? No, sir. Neither seen nor heard."
"What is all this?" asked the solicitor suddenly. "Has something happened?"
"I'd better tell you straight out," answered the Chief Constable. He glanced at the door and lowered his voice. "I don't want the young people to be alarmed," he said. ”

“ Fransemmery. "He's never taken any active part in the business. A very rich man, I understand. Well, here we are—and I wish we came on any other matter than this."
The front door of Markenmore Court stood open, and just inside the inner hall the two new arrivals caught sight of a little group—the tall man they had just seen, an elderly man of professional appearance, and Braxfield.
"Here's Chilford, Sir Anthony's solicitor, here already," whispered the Chief Constable, as he and Mr. Fransemmery advanced without ceremony. "We'd better tell him before letting the boy and girl know. ”

“ Harborough and Mr. Fransemmery drew off into one corner of the room; Chilford and Harry into another; the Chief Constable and Valencia remained on the hearth, talking in low tones. Suddenly the door was thrown open, and Braxfield, still lachrymose, announced, in a half-whisper:
"Mrs. Tretheroe!"
Everybody looked round as Mrs. Tretheroe—who had not forgotten the conventions and presented herself in a tailor-made gown of dead black habit-cloth—came rapidly into the room and made for Valencia. But one man shared his observation between her and his immediate company: Mr. ”

“ Evidently he has returned to the old place—summoned to see his father, I should think—and here he's found shot dead, first thing in the morning! It will take some working out. Luckily, I had that man Blick in Selcaster when I heard the news, and I roused him out of his hotel, immediately, and brought him along. ”