“Indeed I do. And my suspicion is not based on supposition only. Soon after her death I heard definite rumors, which emanated from trustworthy sources.” “How dreadful! I hope they didn’t reach her father.” “I hope so too. He looked dreadfully altered when I met him the other day, but Vera’s sad end no doubt accounts for that.” A minute or two later the visitor with whom Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson had been conversing rose to go. Other visitors followed her example, among them La Planta. “I am dining to-night with Mrs. Hartsilver,” he said carelessly as they shook hands. “Oh!” A look of sudden interest had come into Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson’s eyes. “You will tell me if she says anything about me?” she added hurriedly under her breath. “Of course I will. Shall I see you to-morrow?” “Do. I shall be shopping in Bond Street in the morning. Why not meet me at Asprey’s at twelve?” “I will. By the way, Captain Preston inquired for you this morning, when I met him in Regent Street.” “Captain Preston?” Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson repeated with a puzzled look. “Who is he? I seem to remember the name.” “Don’t you recollect my introducing him to you about nine months ago? We all had lunch together at the Ritz--Louie was there, and Mrs. Hartsilver and Yootha Hagerston, and afterwards we went on to your house to play bridge and listen to music, and so on.” “Of course, now I remember perfectly. A deadly dull person, wasn’t he?” “He had been badly wounded and was only just out of hospital. You will find him less dull now, I think.” “Possibly, but I am not very anxious to renew the acquaintanceship. He is one of the people one prefers to drop.” “He wouldn’t like to hear that,” La Planta answered with a laugh. “It struck me he was greatly attracted by you that day, but tried not to show it.” “Then don’t tell him,” Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson said lightly. “Good-by then--and twelve to-morrow at Asprey’s.” As Archie La Planta stepped into his car strange thoughts came to him. They were thoughts which would have astonished most of his friends, though not Stapleton or the friend whose house he had just left. At his chambers in the Albany he rang for his servant. “James, bring me some telegram forms,” he said as the man entered. “And where is my ‘Who’s Who’?” For some minutes he studied a page in “Who’s Who” carefully. Then, when James reëntered with the forms, he said: “And now I want ‘Debrett.’ Why don’t you leave my books of reference where I always put them?” he added sharply. “Mr. Stapleton looked in this morning, sir,” the man answered, “and wanted your ‘Who’s Who’ and ‘Debrett’ in a hurry, to refer to; said he hadn’t time to go home, sir. So I let him have them and he left them on the piano.” For some moments La Planta sat at his escritoire writing out two telegrams. “Send these off at once, James,” he said to his servant, who stood waiting at his elbow. “Both are very important.”