He did so. He read it in silence. From his foot to the crown of his head there crept a cold influence as he read. Stream after stream, this _aura_ of fear spread upwards to his brain. Pale Mr. Longcluse shrugged and smiled, and smiled and shrugged, as his dark eye ran down the lines, and with a careless finger he turned the page over. He smiled, as prizefighters smile for the spectators, while every nerve quivered with pain. He looked up, smiling still, and thrust the note into his breast-pocket. "Well, Mr. Longcluse, a long note it seems to have been," said Lady May, curiously. "Not very long, but what is as bad, very illegible," said Mr. Longcluse gaily. "And what about the man--the person the police were to have inquired after?" she persisted. "I find it is no police information, nothing of the kind," answered Longcluse with the same smile. "It comes by no means from one of that long-headed race of men; on the contrary, poor fellow, I believe he is literally a little mad. I make him a trifling present every Christmas, and that is a very good excuse for his plaguing me all the year round. I was in hopes this letter might turn out an amusing one, but it is not; it is a failure. It is rather sensible, and disgusting." "Well, then, I must have my song, Mr. Longcluse," said Lady May, who, under cover of music, sometimes talked a little, in gentle murmurs, to that person with whom talk was particularly interesting. But that song was not to be heard in Lady May's drawing-room that night, for a kindred interruption, though much more serious in its effects upon Mr. Longcluse's companions, occurred. A footman entered, and presented on a salver a large brown envelope to Miss Alice Arden. "Oh, dear! It is a telegram," exclaimed Miss Arden, who had taken it to the window. Lady May Penrose was beside her by this time. Alice looked on the point of fainting. "I'm afraid papa is very ill," she whispered, handing the paper, which trembled very much in her hand, to Lady May. "H'm! Yes--but you may be sure it's exaggerated. Bring some sherry and water, please. You look a little frightened, my dear. Sit down, darling. There now! These messages are always written in a panic. What do you mean to do?" "I'll go, of course," said Alice. "Well, yes--I think you must go. What is the place? Twyford, the 'Royal Oak?' Look out Twyford, please Mr. Darnley--there's a book there. It must be a post-town. It was thoughtful saying it is on the Dover coach road." Vivian Darnley was gazing in deep concern at Alice. Instantly he began turning over the book, and announced in a few moments more--"It is a post-town--only thirty-six miles from London," said Mr. Darnley. "Thanks," said Lady May. "Oh, here's the wine--I'm so glad! You must have a little, dear; and you'll take Louisa Diaper with you, of course; and you shall have one of my carriages, and I'll send a servant with you, and he'll arrange everything; and how soon do you wish to go?"