pencil in her hand and was idly tracing the name “Bower” over and over again.
Suddenly an idea struck her and she stopped dead, staring at the word. Then she summoned Tredwell once more.
“Tredwell, how is the name ‘Bower’ spelt?”
“ B - a - u - e - r , my lady.”
“That’s not an English name.”
“I believe he is of Swiss extraction, my lady.”
“Oh! That’s all, Tredwell, thank you.”
Swiss extraction? No. German! That martial carriage, that flat back to the head.
And he had come to Chimneys a fortnight before Gerry Wade’s death.
Bundle rose to her feet. She had done all she could here. Now to get on with things! She went in search of her father.
“I’m off again,” she said. “I’ve got to go and see Aunt Marcia.”
“Got to see Marcia?” Lord Caterham’s voice was full of astonishment. “Poor child, how did you get let in for that?”
“Just for once,” said Bundle, “I happen to be going of my own free will.”
Lord Caterham looked at her in puzzlement.
That anyone could have a genuine desire to face his redoubtable sister-in-law was quite incomprehensible to him. Marcia, Marchioness of Caterham, the widow of his late brother Henry, was a very prominent