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Tramore was a mine of commerages, and she had no need to go out to bring home the latest intelligence. At any rate Mrs. Bray might serve as the end of a wedge. "Oh, I dare say we might think of that," Rose said. "It would be very kind of your sister." "Guy'll think of it, won't you, Guy?" asked Lady Maresfield. "Rather!"
The woman whose stabbed and charred body had been found among the debris of the house in Maresfield Gardens burnt down on Christmas Eve was, it seemed, another of Gastrell's victims; he had stabbed her to death, and the house had been fired with a view to destroying all traces of the crime.
He wished to convey that he desired to make up to her for the injustice of society. Mr. Mangler had a great deal to say about the disappointment of his own parent over Miss Tramore's not having come to dine with them the night of his aunt's ball. "Lady Maresfield knows why I didn't come," Rose answered at last. "Ah, now, but I don't, you know; can't you tell ME?" asked the young man.
I was sorry to hear about the fate of your play, but 'tis the fortune of war, and I hope it will only stir you to another effort which may possess, not more merit, possibly, but better luck, which now-a-days counts more than merit. With all good wishes, I am, yours truly, Copy of Letter to David Christie Murray, Sept. 1st. "Merliland," 25 Maresfield Gardens, South Hampstead, N.W.
Nor, indeed, had any light been thrown upon the mystery of the forged telegram, while the incident of the discovery of the charred body of a murdered woman among the debris of the house in Maresfield Gardens destroyed by fire on Christmas Eve had, to all intents, been entirely forgotten. In the firelight in a small room leading out of the large library, Dulcie and I sat and talked.
Cleverness of the right sort was exactly the quality that Lady Maresfield prefigured as indispensable in a young lady to whom she should marry her second son, over whose own deficiencies she flung the veil of a maternal theory that HIS cleverness was of a sort that was wrong. Those who knew him less well were content to wish that he might not conceal it for such a scruple.
I am going to that address in Maresfield Gardens that he gave to his taxi-driver. I am going to find out if he lives there, or what he is doing there. What I want to know is Will you come with me?" "Good heavens, Jack!" I exclaimed, "what an extraordinary thing to do. But what will you say when you get there?
They made quite a pile, for Sir Roland was one of those broad-minded men who like to read both sides on questions of any importance. I soon found the report I sought. It occupied a prominent position, and was headed: HAMPSTEAD FIRE MYSTERY BODY FOUND STABBED POLICE PUZZLED The disastrous fire at Number 340 Maresfield Gardens, on Christmas Eve, has given rise to an interesting sequel.
Jacob was helping himself to jam; the postman was talking to Rebecca in the kitchen; there was a bee humming at the yellow flower which nodded at the open window. They were all alive, that is to say, while poor Mr. Floyd was becoming Principal of Maresfield House. Mrs. Flanders got up and went over to the fender and stroked Topaz on the neck behind the ears. "Poor old Topaz," said Mrs.
Lady Maresfield, if she had given her son any such message, which Rose disbelieved, entertained her hope in a manner compatible with her sitting for half an hour, surrounded by her little retinue, without glancing in the direction of Mrs. Tramore.
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