The communication was upon paper of pale straw-colour, headed "Metropolitan Police, T. Division, Brentford," and signed "J. Rowling, sub-divisional inspector." There were only two or three lines, asking whether I could make it convenient to appoint an hour when he could call upon me, as he wished to consult me upon "a matter of extreme importance." The matter referred to was, of course, the tragedy at Whitton. Truth to tell, I was sick at heart of all this ever-increasing maze of circumstances, and placed the letter in my pocket with a resolve to allow the affair to rest until I returned to London on the conclusion of my visit. The receipt of it, however, had served one purpose admirably: it had given me an opportunity to recover my surprise at discovering Beryl sitting there opposite me, bright and vivacious, as though nothing unusual had occurred. The letter which I had seen her writing in the study on the previous evening had been, I now felt convinced, to make an appointment which she had kept. But with whom? I glanced at my hostess, who was busily arranging with those near her at table for a driving party to visit the Haywards at Dodington Park, and wondered whether she could be aware of the strange midnight visitant. I contrived to have a brief chat with her after breakfast was finished, but she appeared in entire ignorance of what had transpired during the night. I lit a cigarette, and as usual strolled around for a morning visit to the kennels with Sir Henry. On returning I saw my well-beloved seated beneath one of the great trees near the house, reading a novel. The morning was hot, but in the shade it was delightful. As I crossed the grass to her she raised her head, and then, smiling gladly, exclaimed-- "Why, I thought you'd gone to Dodington with the others, Doctor Colkirk?" "No," I answered, taking a chair near her; "I'm really very lazy this hot weather." How charming she looked in her fresh cotton gown and large flop-hat of Leghorn straw trimmed with poppies. "And I prefer quiet and an interesting book to driving in this sun. I wonder they didn't start about three, and come home in the sunset. But Nora's always so wilful." Though as merry as was her wont, I detected a tired look in her eyes. Where had she been during the long night--and with whom? The silence was only disturbed by the hum of the insects about us and the songs of the birds above. The morning was a perfect one. "I found it very oppressive last night," I said, carefully approaching the subject upon which I wanted to talk to her. "I couldn't sleep, so I came out here into the park." "Into the park?" she echoed quickly, and I saw by her look that she was apprehensive. "Yes. It was a beautiful night--cool, refreshing, and starlit." "You were alone?" I hesitated. Then, looking her straight in the face, answered-- "No, I was not. I had yourself as company." The colour in an instant left her cheeks. "Me?" she gasped.