“Very ’appy, sir,” replied the Hebraic gentleman affably. “But it’s no good your sending it yet. Miss Buckley is returning from South Africa; at this moment she’s on the ocean, and she’s not due in London for another ten days. Send it then, and I will take care it reaches her. Good-morning, sir; ’appy to have met you.” He held out a podgy hand, and the interview terminated. It was a bit of a check, this waiting for ten days, for Sellars was getting very keen on the Morrice case. But there was no help for it, and it was always on the cards that Miss Buckley might refuse to receive him, or if she did, might decline to give information about her old friend. * * * * * Rosabelle returned to London with her uncle and aunt, very glad to get home again. Under ordinary conditions she would have enjoyed herself hugely at Mürren, for she was a thorough open-air girl, and delighted in every form of sport. But the sight of other people’s gaiety made her sad when she was so miserable herself. Mrs. Morrice, too, seemed very unhappy and restless during what should have been such a festive season. Rosabelle thought that Mrs. Morrice must have been fonder of Richard than she had believed. The first visit she paid, even before she went to see her lover, was to the offices of Gideon Lane. This man, with his strong resolute face, was her only hope; she had longed to be back in London so that she might be near him; his propinquity to her gave her a sense of comfort. “I don’t want to make myself a nuisance, Mr. Lane, but I simply could not keep away,” she explained by way of greeting. “You have not been idle during our absence, I am sure. Are you any nearer to discovering the true criminal? Have you found out anything at all?” It was an awkward question for the detective to reply to. A very great deal had been discovered during the time that had elapsed between her departure for Mürren and her return to London; startling facts at present known only to himself and Sellars. If she had been a hard-headed practical man instead of an emotional girl wrought up to a pitch of almost unendurable tension by the serious plight of her lover, he might have been disposed to make a clean breast of it. But for the moment he dared not trust her. Guided by her feelings, she might act impulsively and spoil all his plans. “I will be frank with you, Miss Sheldon, as far as I can be, as I dare be, at this juncture. Certain things have been discovered of considerable importance. What they are, the precise nature of them, even a hint, I dare not indulge in for the present, not until I know much more.” She knew the man well by now; it was useless to attempt to shake his determination. When he had once made up his mind, it was like beating against an open door. “Will you at least tell me this, to ease my suspense,” she said at length. “What you have discovered so far, does it tell against or in favour of Mr. Croxton?”