Arrived at the house, Sarah was handed out with her head in the air. Virgil’s offer to ring or use her latchkey might not have been made. His presence was ignored utterly. My lady let herself in, and closed the door behind her exactly as if she were alone. The broad white step without, might have been empty. Then she went to her room and burst into tears. Virgil repaired to a Club and ordered a brandy and soda. This he imbibed in the library, where no one may speak, cursing all women with a deep and bitter curse. . . . After a perfectly poisonous hour and a half, he went to bed. Upon the following morning he received two several communications. The first was from the hall-porter at Claridge’s and made his hair rise. The second was from Sarah and desired him to meet her at noon at Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Pardoner agreed, but went early, proposing to have Forsyth to himself for a valuable quarter of an hour. Miss Vulliamy went early also, with the same idea. They met on the doorstep and, as Forsyth was engaged, spent an awkward ten minutes in the same waiting-room. . . . At last they were shown into the presence. The solicitor, who had been hoping to congratulate them as lovers, was much disappointed. Still, his hopes were not dashed, and, wisely making no attempt to thaw the atmosphere, begged to be told the nature of the trouble. Virgil stammered the facts. He was careful to tell nothing but the truth. But for Sarah’s presence, he would have gone further, and told the whole truth . . . but for Sarah’s presence . . . Forsyth heard him out gravely. Then he rang for a clerk. “Get me on to Claridge’s,” he said. In silence the three awaited the connection. Presently a bell throbbed. Forsyth picked up the receiver. “Is that Claridge’s? Put me on to the hall-porter. . . . Hullo! . . . This is Forsyth and Co., solicitors. . . . Yes, Mr. Forsyth. . . . I understand a lady calling herself ‘Miss Townshend,’ has been asking for Mr. Pardoner. . . . Yes? . . . Sitting in the hall now, is she? Good. Tell her that he will be there to see her at three o’clock. . . . Right. . . . Good-bye.” “But, look here,” said Virgil, “I’m not going to——” “Yes, you are,” said Forsyth. “You’re going to be in the lounge. Two of my clerks are going to be there also. One of these is going to take your name in vain. He’s going to meet the lady and say he’s you. Of course, it may not come off, but it’s worth trying. If it does, we’ve got her cold. There’s the evidence of a spare clerk and the hall-porter, to say she took John Snooks for Virgil Pardoner. You must be there yourself, to have a look at her. If, having seen her, you’ve anything more to say, say it to the spare clerk. And to-night you must leave for Lincolnshire. The real Miss Townshend must know the facts of the case, and we obviously can’t trust the post. If all goes well, she won’t be needed, but if there’s any hitch, she’ll have to be produced.” Pardoner broke into a sweat. Then—