I felt a strong desire to kick him, but my promise to Northcote restrained me. "Yes," I said, "it's rather a bother. Have a cigar?" He helped himself from the box which I held out. "Any news?" he inquired. I don't know why--he said it quite naturally--but it suddenly flashed across my mind that under this apparently innocent question there lurked a considerable amount of meaning. Could it be possible, I reflected rapidly, that he knew something about Mercia's midnight visit? It seemed wildly unlikely, but I made up my mind to test him. "Yes," I said coolly. "I had rather a curious experience last night." I was watching him as I spoke, and I could have sworn I noticed a slight tightening of the muscles in his face. "Really?" he drawled. "What was that?" I laughed lightly. "On second thoughts," I said, "perhaps I ought to keep it to myself for the present." If he was really disappointed, he concealed it admirably. "That's just like you," he said, with a yawn; "you're always so confoundedly mysterious. I suppose it's the result of living under a wrong name." This was news indeed, but I flatter myself I received it with admirable composure. "I expect it is," I answered, selecting another cigar in place of the one I had discarded. There was a brief pause in the conversation. "Well, what about coming down to Ashton?" said Maurice, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair. I remembered Northcote's advice that I should refuse, but some obstinate streak at the back of my nature suddenly asserted itself. I think perhaps it was a feeling that Northcote's suspicions concerning the sleek young man in front of me were based on very good grounds that really decided me. I don't like running away from danger. "When do you expect me?" I inquired carelessly. Something very like a momentary flash of triumph leaped into his eyes. "How about Thursday?" he suggested. "There's a good train from Liverpool Street at 2.30, and I'll meet you at Woodford." "Thursday would do all right," I said. "We shall have a pretty festive crowd," he went on, knocking some ash off his coat. "Sangatte and York have both promised to come, and I think George Vane will most likely turn up. And then, of course, there'll be the Baradells." He looked at me with a sort of sly half-grin as he mentioned the latter name. Evidently my acquaintance with the Baradells had some special significance. "That sounds tolerable," I said. "At all events," he finished, "we ought to have some decent shooting. Reece tells me that the partridges are good, and there are always plenty of duck about." I nodded thoughtfully. It struck me that if there was going to be any shooting I should be devilish careful whom I stood next. I had just arrived at this sound conclusion when, through the open window, I saw a beautifully appointed limousine car glide up to the door. "Here's Ritchie," I said. "I'll just see what he's got to say."