"Remarkable! I should say so; remarkable is a mild way of putting it. I've half-a-mind to pack directly after breakfast and leave the place this morning; the idea of his attempting to dictate to us! As I say, the only explanation I can think of is that the fellow's stark, staring mad." "That--that must be it." Mr. Nash continued to comment on Mr. Morgan's insolent epistle while he trifled with his breakfast; but it was noticeable that he only trifled. If he had had an appetite it had vanished; it seemed as if the man's impertinence must have affected him more than he would have cared to own. It was the same with his wife, she had no appetite either. Indeed, when one came to think of it, neither of them had eaten much since they had first heard of Mr. Morgan's call. The fact had even been noticed by the landlady. "I can't think what's the matter with them all at once," she declared to her diminutive maid, Louisa. "They used to eat heartily enough; as you know, I remarked on it to you." "Yes, Mrs. Lorrimer, that you did." "But these last couple of days they've scarcely touched a thing. There's been nothing the matter with the food, and I'm sure there's been nothing the matter with the cooking; it must be them that's wrong." When breakfast was finished--such a breakfast as it was; even the soles went out practically as they came in--Mrs. Nash went to put on her hat preparatory to going out with her husband on to the front, as she usually did on fine mornings; he with a newspaper, and she with a book. That morning the process was a lengthy one; she seemed preoccupied, as if her mind was so full that there was no room in it for her hat. She moved restlessly about the room, as if her thoughts kept her in motion. All at once it seemed that she arrived at a sudden resolution. "I know what I'll do; I'll get Herbert to go; we will go, before he comes; we'll go to-day. I'll talk to Herbert directly we get outside. I believe he wants to go as much as I do; though I--I don't know why. And this time we won't stay in England; we'll go abroad, as far away as ever we can; somewhere where that wretch can't get at us; and--and we'll leave no address behind." While the lady so resolved the gentleman--unconscious of her resolution--waited for her on the doorstep. As he waited he saw, advancing towards the house on a bicycle, a telegraph boy. Some instinct induced him to leave that doorstep and move to meet him. "Got a telegram for me--Nash?" "Nash? Yes, sir." The boy jumped off; he produced the familiar yellow envelope. "Herbert Nash." "That's for me; that's all right. Wait while I see if there's an answer." He tore the envelope open; this was the message it contained: "Coming by the train due 12.28. You had better meet me at the station alone.--STEPHEN MORGAN." "There is no answer," Mr. Nash informed the boy.