"Now tell me more about my husband, everything you know. Poor Bob! if he has suffered as I have, he must indeed be wretched." Jack was morally sure that the Consul had done nothing of the kind, but he forbore to say so. Not that he doubted for a moment that Allingford loved his wife ardently; but he knew him to be a somewhat easy-going personage, who, when he could not have things as he wanted them, resigned himself to making the best of things as they were. From what he knew of Mrs. Scarsdale, moreover, he thought it safe to conclude that she had resigned herself to the exigencies of the case, and that both of them looked on the whole affair as a practical joke played upon them by Fate, of which they could clearly perceive the humorous side. He therefore turned the conversation by recounting all he knew, even to the minutest circumstance, of her husband's adventures; and she, in her turn, poured into his ear her tale of woe in Winchester. "I can't understand," he said, at the conclusion of her narrative, "why Allingford did not receive the telegram you sent to Basingstoke yesterday." "As I think I told you," she replied, "that strange person, Faro Charlie, offered to send it for me, and as I had no change I gave him a five-pound note." "Oh!" said Carrington, "perhaps that solves the mystery. Did your friend bring you back the change?" "N--o," admitted Mrs. Allingford; "that is, not yet." "I'm afraid you will never hear from your five-pound note, and that Allingford never received his telegram from Winchester," commented Carrington; "but it has disposed of Faro Charlie as a witness, and perhaps that was worth the money." "Do you really think he meant to take it?" she asked in a shocked tone. "I'm sure of it," he replied, "and time will prove the correctness of my theory." And time did. They breakfasted together, and, at Carrington's suggestion, all the baggage was sent to the station, in order that they might have every chance of making the train. Jack's brother joined them about half-past eight, and the three proceeded to the court, where a few words from that officer to the magistrate, with whom he was personally acquainted, were sufficient to bring Scarsdale's case first on the docket. The landlord of the Lion's Head appeared, a mass of bandages, and groaning dolefully to excite the sympathy of the court; but he testified without hesitation that the prisoner, though somewhat resembling Richard Allingford, was not he; and it did not need Carrington's identification to make Scarsdale a free man. Then there were mutual congratulations, and a hurried drive to the station, where they just succeeded in catching the train; and, almost before he knew it, Jack was standing alone upon the platform, while his two friends were speeding towards the goal of all their hopes, _via_ Southampton and Salisbury. * * * * *