"Ladies never come to our den, you know, Miss Blain; therefore please forgive me for blaring like a bull. Our old woman who cleans out the kennels is as deaf as a post, therefore we have contracted a habit of shouting." "What is the horror of which you spoke?" she asked, with a forced laugh, I was looking at her at that instant and noticed how unusually pale and agitated her face had suddenly become. "Oh, only a startling discovery in to-night's special," he answered. "A discovery!" she gasped, "Where?" He glanced at the paper still in his hand, while she bent forward in her chair with an eagerness impossible of concealment. Her cheeks were pallid, her eyes dark, wild-looking and brilliant. "The affair," he said, "seems to have taken place in Loampit Vale, Lewisham." "Ah!" she ejaculated, quite involuntarily giving vent to a sigh of relief which Cleugh, quick and observant, did not fail to notice. My friend threw the paper aside, sniffed at the odour of burnt meat, and suggested that the Hag was endeavouring to asphyxiate us. "The Hag!" exclaimed Mary, surprised. "Who's the Hag!" "Old Mrs. Joad," responded Dick. "We call her that, first, because she's so ugly; and secondly, because when she's cooking for us she croons to herself like the Witch of Endor." "She certainly is decidedly ugly with that cross-eye of hers. It struck me, too, that she had an ancient and witch-like aspect when she admitted me," she laughed. Thus we chatted on until the bell on the Hall struck seven and she rose to go, first, however, inviting Dick to accompany me to Riverdene, an invitation which he gladly accepted. Then she bade him adieu and I accompanied her out into Holborn, where I placed her in a taxi for Waterloo. On re-entering the room, Dick's first exclamation was-- "Did you notice how her face changed when I mentioned the horror?" "Yes," I said. "Her name's Blain, and I presume she's the daughter of Mrs. Blain who is tenant of that house in Kensington?" I nodded. "An old flame of yours. I remember now that you once spoke of her." "Quite true." "Well, old fellow," he said, "it was quite apparent when I mentioned the tragedy that she feared the discovery had been made in Kensington. Depend upon it she can, if she likes, tell us a good deal." "Yes," I answered thoughtfully, "I agree with you entirely, Dick. I believe she can." CHAPTER TEN. ON THE SILENT HIGHWAY.