At the gate of the lift Colin stood aside to allow a lady to emerge. Their eyes met for an instant, and he noticed that hers were unusually luminous and wide-set. Then his mind went back to the business on hand. “Hullo!” said Mr. Risk as his sister came in. “Hope I didn’t interrupt your muse in its description of some poor wretch’s wedding garments—” “You did! The only amends you can make is to ring for tea and tell me why you wired for me.” “To give you tea perhaps,” he said, pressing a button. “Come, John! What do you want with me?” “Who is Miss Carstairs?” Hilda sat up. “She’s a friend of mine—” “New?” “Well, she is—but why do you ask?” “Tell me what you know about her,” he said seriously. “I’m afraid I can’t, John,” she replied, after a moment. “I’m under promise not to repeat what she told me.” “That’s a pity. Where did you meet her? Glasgow?” “No—on the train, last night.” “Can’t you tell me where she came from?” “I think I may tell you that much. Dunford is the name of the village.” “Dear me! Dunford seems to be emigrating to London!” “What do you mean, John?” “Nothing for you, Hilda. Did she mention her father?” “She told me he was dead. He was a journalist. They used to live in Glasgow. I had better not say more.” “Thanks, you’ve told me all I want to know about Miss Carstairs—for the present. Now what can you tell me about the mysterious Mr. Symington, whose head you instructed me to punch on his calling here?” “Oh, has he been?” she exclaimed. “Patience! I may be wrong, but I fancy he is still in Dunford. In fact, I’ve just dispatched a messenger—” “Nonsense! The man’s in London—or was this morning!” “Indeed! Why didn’t you say so this morning?” Risk asked without irritation. “I thought that you would understand that he was—was after us.” “My dear girl, I don’t wish to belittle your attractions, or Miss Carstairs’, but I wish you had been more explicit at the time. I merely thought that in the course of one of your escapades you had favoured an objectionable person with your brother’s address instead of your own—an admirable expedient I admit—but I had not thought of the person being on your very heels, as it were.” “But what do you know of him?” she asked, looking puzzled. “The Zenith secretary sent me a letter this morning which had come from a Mr. Symington, of Dunford, and now you have strengthened my suspicion induced by the letter that he is also the objectionable person. Of course, there may be another Mr. Symington in Dunford, so I’ll let my messenger go ahead. It will be good training for him anyway—test his discretion and so on. What does Miss Carstairs say about Symington?” “I can’t tell you.” “Has she mentioned a Mr. Hayward—Colin Hayward?” “No.” Just then the servant brought tea. When he had retired, Hilda said— “John, do tell me what it all means.”