It was a dark, dull, damp evening when Robert Streightley alighted from the cab in which he had driven from the railway, and knocked at his own door in Portland Place. The enormously stout middle-aged man, who for a by no means poor wage consented to pass his life in alternately sitting in and getting out of a porter's chair, like a leathern bee-hive, was usually sufficiently on the alert to recognise his master's rap, and give him speedy admission; but on this occasion Mr. Streightley had to knock three times, and when the porter opened the door there was a strange odd look on his face, which made his master think he had been drinking. Robert passed by him quickly and went into the library, where he rang the bell. It was answered by William, the footman who had opened the door for Katharine when she left the house. "Is your mistress in the Cedar-room? is there any one with her?" "Missus is not in the Cedar-room, sir, and there is no pusson with her, as I knows of. Missus ain't at home, sir." "O, very well. What time did she order the carriage to fetch her?" "The carriage isn't ordered at all, sir. Missus said she wouldn't want the carriage." "Do you know where your mistress is?" "She said she was goin' to Queen Anne Street, sir." "Very good. I'll go across myself and bring her home." "Begging your pardon, sir, I don't think you'll find missus at Queen Anne Street, sir." "No! what do you mean?" "Why, sir, Mamzell Augustus went across about six o'clock, sir, to know whether missus was comin' home to dress, sir, and they said at Queen Anne Street that she'd never been there since she left in the morning." "Never been there? and--O, she's probably gone out with Mr. Guyon." "Good Lord, sir!" said the footman, startled out of all propriety; "I forgot, sir, you didn't know--the hold gent's dead!" "Dead? Mr. Guyon dead?" "Yes, sir; had a fit at Croydon races last evening, sir, and died hearly this morning. Beg pardon, sir, shall I tell Anderson to bring you a glass of brandy, sir?" "Eh? No, thank you, William--yes--you may, if you please. I feel--" and Robert Streightley clutched at a chair near him, and sunk into it, with trembling limbs and beating heart.