The change in the man was wonderful. From a state of maudlin amiability he seemed to be stricken with an emotion of either fear or anger. His eyes narrowed. He set his glass down almost steadily, although he was obliged to breathe heavily several times before he spoke. 'Miss de Freyne,' he repeated. 'What about her?' Lavendale pointed towards the window behind them. 'Nothing except that when I was in here an hour ago I saw Miss de Freyne's face at the window of that empty suite next to yours,' he said. Mr. Somers-Keyne rose to his feet. A splendid dignity guided his footsteps and kept his voice steady. 'Sir,' he pronounced, 'I am able to surmise now the reason for your excessive hospitality. I wish you good morning!' He turned towards the door. 'Mr. Somers-Keyne,' Lavendale began, rising hastily to his feet---- The dramatist waved him away. His gesture, if a little theatrical, was final. The honours remained with him.... Lavendale, a few minutes later, on his way to his luncheon-table in the grill-room, threw his accustomed glance across the room towards the corner which was still possessed of a peculiar interest for him. He paused in the act of taking his place. At her same table, with a little pile of manuscript propped up in front of her, Miss de Freyne was seated, studying the luncheon menu. For a moment he hesitated. Then he rose to his feet and, crossing the room, addressed her. 'Miss de Freyne!' She glanced up in some surprise. She seemed, indeed, scarcely to recognize him. 'You have not forgotten me, I hope?' he continued. 'My name is Lavendale.' 'Of course,' she assented slowly. 'You were the friend of that strange little creature with the marvellous invention, weren't you?' 'I was scarcely his friend,' Lavendale corrected, 'but I did my best to help him.' She made a pencil mark in the margin of the manuscript and laid it face downwards upon the table. Then she leaned back in her chair and looked at him. 'Tell me what happened?' she begged. 'I was obliged to leave London the next day and I have only just returned. Was it suicide or murder?' 'The man was murdered, without a doubt,' Lavendale replied. 'Is that so, really?' she asked gravely. 'Tell me, had he given over his formula to the War Office?' Lavendale sighed. 'Unfortunately no! He was to have handed it over at eleven o'clock the next morning.' 'Was it found amongst his effects?' 'Not a written line of any sort.' 'Is any one suspected?' she inquired, dropping her voice a little. Lavendale hesitated and glanced cautiously around. 'Scarcely that,' he answered, 'but you remember the man Jules, the _maîtres d'hôtel_ here?' She nodded. 'A Swiss, wasn't he? I was just wondering what had become of him.