"I fear not. It is probable that I shall leave for the South of France quite early." And she was gone. Her companion rushed to the street, and almost ran to his Victoria Street chambers. It was six o'clock. He had to dress and drive all the way to Hampstead for dinner at 7.30. * * * * * At ten minutes past nine Sir Charles Dyke entered Wensley House. A handsome, quiet, gentlemanly man was Sir Charles. He was rich--a Guardsman until the baronetcy devolved upon him, a popular figure in Society, esteemed a trifle fast prior to his marriage, but sobered down by the cares of a great estate and a vast fortune. His wife and he were not well-matched in disposition. She was too earnest, too prim, for the easy-going baronet. He respected her, that was all. A man of his nature found it impossible to realize that the depths of passion are frequently coated over with ice. Their union was irreproachable, like their marriage settlements; but there are more features in matrimony than can be disposed of by broad seals and legal phrases. Unfortunately, they were childless, and were thus deprived of the one great bond which unites when others may fail. Sir Charles was hurried, if not flurried. His boots were muddy and his clothes splashed by the mire of passing vehicles. "I fear I am very late for dinner," he said to the footman who took his hat and overcoat. "But I shall not be five minutes in dressing. Tell her ladyship--" "Milady is not at home, Sir Charles." "Not at home!" "Milady went out at half-past five, saying that she was going to Richmond to see Lady Edith Talbot, and that you were not to wait dinner if she was late in returning." Sir Charles was surprised. He looked steadily at the man as he said: "Are you quite sure of her ladyship's orders?" "Quite sure, Sir Charles." "Did she drive?" "No, Sir Charles. She would not order the carriage when I suggested it." The baronet, somewhat perplexed, hesitated a moment. Then he appeared to dismiss the matter as hardly worth discussion, saying, as he went up stairs: "Dinner almost immediately, James." During the solitary meal he was preoccupied, but ate more than usual, in the butler's judgment. Finding his own company distasteful, he discussed the November Handicap with the butler, and ultimately sent for an evening paper. Opening it, the first words that caught his eye were, "Murder in the West End." He read the paragraph, the record of some tragic orgy, and turned to the butler. "A lot of these beastly crimes have occurred recently, Thompson." "Yes, Sir Charles. There's bin three since the beginning of the month." After a pause. "Did you hear that her ladyship had gone to Richmond?" "Yes, Sir Charles." "Do you know how she went?" "No, Sir Charles." "I wanted to see her to-night, _very_ particularly. Order the brougham in ten minutes. I am going to the Travellers' Club. I shall be home soon--say eleven o'clock--when her ladyship arrives."