She went steadily before him down the narrow wooden stairway. On the landing he overtook her, and they continued their descent on the broader stone steps, passing business offices closed for the night. At the entrance a plain-looking motor brougham was waiting. “I hope you will remember, Miss Carstairs,” he whispered, “that I used no harshness.” “I will—thank you. Have we far to go?” “It’s a longish drive.” As they crossed the pavement Kitty thought it strange that no one stared, then almost laughed at the stupidity of the notion. Why should any one stare? Truly the man was behaving very nicely. He opened the door, followed her into the brougham, and closed it with a bang. The brougham immediately rolled away. The man took the narrow seat opposite, and she heard him draw a long breath. She tried to baulk the returning fears. Anger at her uncle assisted her to some extent. He must have gone quite mad! And then a dreadful thought struck and almost stunned her spirits. Suppose something had happened to Sam! Suppose he were—dead! . . . Time passed ere she recovered her wits and courage. Her aunt knew the truth, and Kitty could not believe that Rachel Corrie, even for her brother’s sake, would fall to perjury. And there was Mr. Risk, and Hilda, and Mr. West, and—Colin! Oh, with such friends, why should she be afraid? No doubt she was in for a most disagreeable ordeal; but it was bound to end in her complete triumph. . . . Well, she was having an adventure, and no mistake! Adventures!—how lightly she had uttered the word in the past to Colin! How gently he had treated her foolish talk! Her mind went back to that night in the little wood at Dunford, when she had let him kiss her. Then his prospects and hers had been simply blank. Now . . . but what had made her allow him to kiss her? She came out of a long reflection. Indeed, the destination was evidently a far one! She had not noticed the course taken by the brougham—not that she could have recognized any streets other than one or two of the main west end thoroughfares. It seemed to her now that they must be somewhere in the suburbs. “Are we nearly there?” she asked her guardian. He cleared his throat. “Still a bit to go,” he said, and gave a long, vague explanation, which she could not follow, as to police districts and other matters. “My work ends,” he concluded, “when I have handed you over to the—the chief inspector.” She thought of asking him what the chief inspector was like, and whether she would have to go to Scotland, but suddenly she felt too tired to talk. The reaction had come, and she lay back exhaustedly, with the tears not far away. She was no longer in a hurry to reach the destination. The man drew down the blinds. Soon the speed of the brougham was increased; it seemed to be travelling over a different sort of road. There were occasional ruts that suggested the country.