But he was not to be out-done. After thinking matters over for a moment or two, he resolved to attack his mistress, and, if necessary, to take her partly into his confidence. After a little searching he found Nance in the large conservatory which opened out of the yellow drawing-room. Her husband was with her. He was busily engaged re-potting some flowers. Rowton was devoted to horticulture, and no employment gave him greater pleasure. Nance was helping him—garden gloves on her hands, and a large apron over her pretty morning dress—when she was startled by hearing Jacob’s quiet voice in her ears. She turned round quickly. “Can I speak to you for a moment, madam?” he said. “I am very sorry to trouble you.” “Certainly, Jacob,” replied the girl in a kind voice. “What is the matter? You look quite in trouble. Can I do anything for you?” The man glanced over his shoulder at Rowton. Rowton, absorbed in his work, did not even know that Short had come into the conservatory. He was bending over a very valuable cactus. “Nance,” he called out, “come here. This is certainly a night-flowering cactus, and I do believe there is a bud coming. We must watch for the time when it bursts into flower; the scent is something never to be forgotten—the flower only lasts during one night. Can you sketch? You ought to make a drawing of it. Well, if you can’t, I can. You never saw a night-flowering cactus, did you?” “No, no,” she answered. “I’ll be with you in one moment, Adrian. Now, Jacob, what is it you want?” “Can I speak to you alone, ma’am? I won’t keep you,” said the man. Nance walked to the door of the conservatory. Jacob followed her. “I am very sorry to be troublesome,” he said, “and I really thought to get to London without worrying you in the matter, ma’am, but Mrs. Ferguson won’t let me go.” “Do you really wish to leave us?” said Nance. She forgot at that moment all about Crossley; and Jacob was nothing more to her than an ordinary valuable and good servant. “You seem to suit the place very well,” she continued. “I am sorry you have to go.” “I don’t want to go at all, ma’am. I am coming back again; but I must go to town to-day.” “Well, why not? I daresay you can be spared.” “Mrs. Ferguson says not, ma’am. Now the fact is,”—here Jacob lowered his voice, and his eyes sought the ground—“it is Crossley; I have had a letter from him.” “Crossley the detective?” cried Nance, with a start. “Yes, ma’am; perhaps you won’t speak so loud. I have had a cipher from Crossley this morning—in answer to one of mine, of course. You know, Mrs. Rowton, why I am here?” “Nance, what is keeping you?” called her husband. “I cannot stay with you now, Jacob,” said Nance, colouring and looking confused. “Coming, Adrian. Of course, if you want to go to town,” she continued, glancing almost nervously at the footman, “you must do so. Do not stay away longer than you can help. Tell Mrs. Ferguson I have given you leave.”