Then again, his conversation with Odette Rider had not led him to the conclusion that she could afford to throw up her work.

She spoke of finding another job, and that did not sound as though her mother was in a good position.
"Is there any necessity for your daughter working for a living ?" he asked bluntly, and she dropped her eyes.
"It is her wish," she said in a low voice.

"She does not get on with people about here," she added hastily.
There was a brief silence, then he rose and offered his hand.
"I do hope I haven't worried you with my questions," he said, "and I daresay you wonder why I have come.

I will tell you candidly that I am engaged in investigating this murder, and I was hoping to hear that your daughter, in common with the other people who were brought into contact with Mr.Lyne, might give me some thread of a clue which would lead to more important things." "A detective ?" she asked, and he could have sworn there was horror in her eyes.
"A sort of detective," he laughed, "but not a formidable one, I hope, Mrs.Rider." She saw him to the door, and watched him as he disappeared down the drive; then walked slowly back to the room and stood against the marble mantelpiece, her head upon her arms, weeping softly.
Jack Tarling left Hertford more confused than ever.

He had instructed the fly driver to wait for him at the gates, and this worthy he proceeded to pump.
Mrs.Rider had been living in Hertford for four years, and was greatly respected.