DEAR SIR--You spoke of going to Paris to-night. It is important that you see me before leaving London, even if your journey is postponed for twenty-four hours. If you value your peace of mind, you will not disregard this suggestion, and I will call upon you at the earliest possible moment with news. I have every belief that I can lay my hand upon one, at least, of the despicable wretches who are bent upon the misery of yourself and Lady Annesley. Obediently yours, PAUL ASBURY. Theresa herself had handed the note to Sir Harold, and, while his face flushed and paled by turns as he read it, she watched him with painful eagerness. “It is from the detective,” he said. “A somewhat ambiguous message--but must I obey it? Theresa, you shall be judge. It seems that everything is conspiring to keep us in London.” He gave the letter to her, and she perused it with mixed feelings. “I think we ought to stay,” she said. “Oh, Harold, what misery, what danger I have surrounded you with! I am terrified for your sake. If one of the men is caught a score may be ready to spring up and avenge him.” “My dear, the English law will not tolerate anything of this kind. I will root out the fiends at any cost. It is a duty I owe to ourselves and society in general. Remember that they have not a poor man to deal with in me. These secret assassins are always cowards, and they shall be taught a severe lesson.” Though he spoke thus hopefully, poor Theresa shivered with a nervous dread. Dinner was served in private under the direction of Stimson, who was not ill-pleased at the prospect of remaining in London a few more hours, at least. In his secret soul he desired his master to return to Annesley Park, and live as a rich country gentleman should live. The meal was hardly finished when Stimson announced that a gentleman wished to see Sir Harold upon urgent business. “His name?” demanded Sir Harold, a little surprised. “He has not sent it up, Sir Harold. The servant says that he is waiting in the smoking-room downstairs.” “My detective, I expect,” Annesley whispered to Theresa; then aloud to Stimson, “Send him up here. I will see the gentleman in the anteroom. Now, my little girl,” he went on, cheerfully, to his trembling wife, “there shall soon be an end to these cowardly threats. The rascals shall feel the weight of British law!” “But you do not know who this man is!” she said, shivering with a deadly chill. “I do not anticipate that he is an enemy,” he smiled. “Besides, Theresa, I am armed, and shall be merciless enough to shoot the foe like a mad dog!” He pressed a kiss upon her brow, and noticed that it was moist and cold. “The gentleman is here, Sir Harold,” Stimson announced, adding, in an undertone: “It is Viscount Rivington, sir.”