“Yes, sir,” the servant answered, and calmly repeated the words. Then he went out. Risk turned to Colin, who was still standing and gave a nod, murmuring: “All right, Hayward, we’ll excuse you. Good luck!” Colin bowed to the ladies, and with a curious set look on his face left the room. Hilda glanced at her brother, but said nothing. Kitty was feeling a little hurt, and, perhaps, a little relieved also. Why should Colin have wanted to escape hearing her story? On the other hand, it would, perhaps, be less trying to hear it told without his presence. “Let’s have coffee in the study, John,” said Hilda suddenly, “and I’ll try to do what Kitty asks. I do think you and Anthony ought to know how abominably she has been treated, especially as one of her wretched persecutors seems to be losing his head and getting to work again.” “Personally,” said Risk, “I confess to acute curiosity. In two minutes we shall do as you suggest, Hilda. Meanwhile, Miss Carstairs, let us try to come to some agreement with West about the play.” It was a tactful suggestion, for Kitty was requiring a change of thought rather badly just then. Later, as they were passing to the study, Sharp got a word with his master in the hall. “Mr. Hayward asked me to tell you, sir, that he was making a call at the Kingsway Grand Hotel, but that he did not expect to be long in returning.” “Very well. . . . Did he ask for anything before he left the house?” “A flexible cane, sir, which I chanced to be able to provide.” Risk nodded, and looking serious, was about to follow his guests, when a thought seemed to strike him. “Sharp, did Mr. Symington make any response to the message?” “He did, sir.” “What did he say?” Sharp hesitated, “Well, sir,” he replied at last, solemnly, “I should say he contaminated the wire, sir!” * * * * * In common justice it should be stated here that Alexander Symington was not a faithful slave to alcohol. As a rule he kept the upper hand. A full record of his adult life, however, would show that at long intervals and at times of extreme excitement, he lost his grip, fell, and simply wallowed. His collapse on this occasion was probably the result of his converting a hundred Zeniths into nearly five hundred pounds sterling. With pockets full of notes and gold, and with the sure prospect of being able to refill them as soon as emptied—refill them over and over again—it is small wonder that he became reckless in an abnormal degree. At all events, the money was not in his pockets for an hour when, with the assistance of a couple of fellows no finer-souled than himself, he entered upon a bout of dissipation as wild as it was varied. Even Kitty was forgotten. . . .