He had, at this moment, a most clear and definite warning from his brain. “_Clear out!_” it said. “_Get out of this, now. Don’t wait; don’t ask questions; just go!_” All through his body this warning signal ran, making his scalp prickle and his heart beat fast. “_It is bad for you here. Go! Now!_” And his stubborn and indomitable spirit answered: “_I won’t!_” “I want to see Miss Solway,” he said, aloud. Mrs. Jones looked at him for a moment, and apparently the expression on his face filled her with despair. “Oh, dear!” she said, with a tremulous sigh. “I knew; I told her it was a mistake to send. Oh, dear!” Ross stood there and waited. “If you’ll go away,” she said, “Miss Solway will write to you.” Ross still stood there and waited. “Very well, sir!” she said, with another sigh. “If you must, you must. This way, please!” He followed her out of the room, and he noticed that she did not even glance back. She couldn’t know. It was impossible that any one who was aware of what lay under the sofa could simply walk out of the room like that, closing the door upon it. They went down the corridor, which was evidently a wing of the house, and turned the corner into a wider hall. Mrs. Jones knocked upon a door. “Miss Amy, my pet!” she called, softly. The door opened a little. “The gentleman,” said Mrs. Jones. “He _will_ see you!” “All right!” answered a voice he recognized; the door opened wider, and there was the girl he had seen before. Her body, in that soft gray dress, seemed almost incredibly fragile; her face, colorless, framed in misty black hair, with great, restless black eyes and delicate little features, was strange and lovely as a dream. Too strange, thought Ross. For the first time he realized the significance of her presence in the housekeeper’s room. He remembered the wailing voice, her air of haste and terror as she had brushed past him. She had been in there, alone. What did she know? What had she seen? “I had a note from you—” he began. “Hush!” said Mrs. Jones. “If you please, sir! It’s a mistake, Miss Amy, my pet. This isn’t Mr. Ross. It’s quite a stranger.” Obviously she was warning her pet to be careful what she said, and Ross decided that he, too, would be careful. He would have his own little mystery. “Quite a stranger!” he repeated. “But—how did you get my note?” asked the girl. “It was given to me,” he answered. He saw Mrs. Jones and the girl exchange a glance. “If I hold my tongue and wait,” he thought, “they’ll surely have to tell me something.” “But I don’t—” the girl began, when, to Ross’s amazement, Mrs. Jones gave him a vigorous push forward. “You’re the new chauffeur!” she whispered, fiercely.