There was a perceptible pause before he answered. Caution was so ingrained in the man, his habit of carefully weighing every word, his dread of expressing an opinion before he was fully justified, had become so deeply rooted that he could hardly ever exhibit complete frankness. Optimism was, of course, a mood unknown to him. “If certain nebulous suspicions which are slowly forming in my mind turn out to be correct, the result of my discoveries, so far, is rather in favour of Mr. Croxton.” That was all she could get out of him for the present, all she would, in all probability, ever get out of him till he had fully and finally solved the Morrice mystery. It was not great comfort, but it was better than nothing. The next day she went to Petersham, and received a warm welcome from her lover, whose heart had been aching for her during those weary days of separation. Small as were the crumbs of comfort which Lane had given her, she made the most of them, and heartened Dick considerably by her assurance that all would come right in the end. “There are things about the man that irritate me—just an impulsive woman with more heart than head—his slowness, his caution, his dislike to speak positively; but I do believe in him, in his capacity, his ability. If the mystery is to be solved by human agency, I am convinced he will solve it.” The lovers had a fairly happy day, considering the depressing circumstances. They took a long walk through busy Kingston, over the Thames glistening in the winter sunshine, to Hampton Court, where they had lunch at that best of old-fashioned hotels, the Mitre. They got back to Petersham late in the afternoon, and Richard’s kindly old nurse had a dainty tea ready for them. And too soon the hour of parting came and her lover put her in a taxi and kissed her fervently as they said good-bye. “God bless you, my darling; need I tell you how I appreciate your faith in me? But for your visits, and I count the hours till you come, I think I should go mad. And yet I must not reckon on them. One day your uncle will forbid them.” The steadfast girl smiled bravely. “We will talk of that when the time comes, my poor old boy.” She returned his fond caress. “Remember, Dick, whether Lane succeeds or fails, it will make no difference to me. We are sweethearts now, and we are going to be sweethearts till the end.” During her long absence startling events had happened in the big, old-fashioned house in Deanery Street. Gideon Lane had spent a busy morning away from his office. It was three o’clock before he found time to snatch a hasty lunch. When he got back it was close upon four. His clerk had an urgent message for him. “Mr. Morrice of Deanery Street has rung up three times during your absence, sir. The last time he left word for you to go round as soon as you came in. He said it was of the utmost importance.”