About twelve o’clock the telephone bell rang. Lane answered it in about as great a state of excitement as was permissible to a man of his strong self-control. At the first words his face lightened. Once again his instinct had led him right to the presumption that the wretched woman, crushed under the weight of her misfortunes, would fly for shelter to the friend of her youth. “It’s all right, sir. The lady went out with another woman about an hour ago; they have just returned.” “Good,” was the detective’s answer. “I am starting now. Maintain your watch till I come, it won’t take me very long to reach there when I get through the Piccadilly traffic.” He got into the waiting car, drove along as quickly as he could, and halted at a spot a little distant from Elvenden Mansions where a full view of the block of flats could be obtained. A respectable-looking man was lounging about, who reported that the two women were still there. He was quite a discreet person, and one often employed by Lane on such errands. Not wishing to bring too many people into this delicate affair, the detective would have preferred to put Sellars on the job, but that would have been unwise, as the young man was known to both Miss Buckley and Mrs. Morrice, and might have scared his quarry away. He dismissed his subordinate, ordered the car to wait where it was, and proceeded to Number 5. The door was opened by a comely buxom woman, whom he rightly took to be Alma Buckley. “I wish to see Mrs. Morrice on very urgent business,” he said, proffering his card which bore his name, profession and address. “You will see from that who I am.” The woman read the card, and her face paled visibly underneath the thick rouge she had laid on it. She scented danger at once and flew to that readiest resource of certain women of not too scrupulous a nature, a lie. “No Mrs. Morrice lives here. I am the sole tenant, and my name is Buckley, Alma Buckley,” she stammered. “I know quite well you are the owner of this flat, Miss Buckley,” replied Lane suavely. “But you will pardon me for questioning your statement. This place has been under observation by an employé of mine. You and Mrs. Morrice went out this morning together, and returned about three-quarters of an hour ago. You have not stirred from it since, therefore Mrs. Morrice is within.” When she saw he knew so much, she abandoned the fiction and tried another tack. “It is quite true she is here for a short time, but she is too unwell to see anybody.” “Her indisposition must have come on very suddenly then, since she was well enough to shop or walk about with you for over an hour. Come, Miss Buckley, let us leave this fencing, it will do your friend more harm than good. I wish to impress upon you, and through you upon Mrs. Morrice, that it is necessary I should see her in _her own_ interests, apart from those of other people. If she refuses to see me, her future will be jeopardized to an extent she does not at present realize.”