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Great was the dismay throughout the countryside when it became known that Maurice Alymer had been murdered. The dead man was well known in drawing-room and in hunting-field, so that there was hardly a person of consequence in the county who could not claim at least a bowing acquaintance with him. Moreover, Maurice was one of those men who are always popular, and much sympathy was manifested for his untimely death. Also the mysterious way in which he had come to his end, the absence of any known motive, and the knowledge that the deceased had no enemies--all these thing's combined to raise public curiosity to the highest pitch. The inquest on the dead body was awaited with much anxiety. "Don't know," replied Patricia gayly. "Don't care, either. Whatever it is, I'm going into it tooth and nail. I'll show them that I'm on the turf even if I can't win a ribbon." "I didn't. I found it.".
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"Then it must have been Battersea!" said Maurice, decidedly. "He is a friend of Dido's, and a pensioner of Isabella's. I'll find out if he stole the stick for the negress or for Dr. Etwald." Once on the impromptu platform, Patricia's embarrassment dropped from her, and she smiled a ready acknowledgment to the shouts that demanded a dozen different songs at once. "You're fresh meat, aren't you?" she asked with a grin that widened her full mouth to a line. "When'd you come?" "Oh, that is Uncle Jen's greatest treasure," he said, smiling. "He can tell twenty stories about that innocent-looking cane.".
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