He was genial and unreserved. The secret amusement which she had noticed was no longer evident. Either he had ceased to see the funny side of the situation, or his pleasure in it had become too great to show. She found herself again falling under the spell of his avuncular _bonhomie_, but the memory of that half-hidden mockery in his eyes continued to bother her. Wouldn’t a man with nothing to conceal have showed his amusement openly, if he found anything comic in being appealed to for advice on such a matter? What other explanation could there be except the one that Lapping was playing a shrewd game? Perhaps the Saint would know. The bare facts must be placed in his possession at once, for Patricia felt that she was hopelessly out of her depth. She ate and drank sparingly, praying for the earliest moment at which she could take her leave without seeming in too great a hurry. Lapping, either ignoring her perturbation or failing to see any signs of it, chatted pleasantly; Patricia did her best to keep up the part she was playing. She must have done it successfully, for he appeared pained and surprised when she made a tentative move to gather up her belongings. “Must you leave me so soon?” “I’ve promised to see my aunt before dinner,” she said. “There’s some business to talk over—something about my investments. It’s an awful bore, but the letter’s got to be written to-night so that it can go off first thing in the morning.” It was amazing what a fluent and convincing liar she had become of a sudden. “Needless to say, I’m heartbroken,” he vowed, pressing her hand. “But perhaps I can hope that you’ll come again? I’ll talk as seriously as you want me to—I think I can understand your difficulty, and perhaps, with all due respect to Miss Girton, I’m the best qualified person in Baycombe to advise you. Perhaps you could even arrange to bring Mr. Templar with you? He needn’t know that I have your confidence.” “I’ll try to get him to see you,” she averred truthfully. “I’d be delighted. I’m very idle, and I hate ceremony, so we don’t have to bother about a formal invitation. Just drop in without notice—you’ll find me at your service.” She thanked him, and he escorted her to the gate. She had just passed through it when an inspiration struck her. And the blow staggered her, so desperate and daring was the idea. But she carried it out before she had time to falter. “By the way,” she said, “how’s Harry the Duke?” The question sprang to her lips so artlessly and naturally, so _à propos_ of nothing that they had been talking about for a long time, that she could not have contrived it better to take him off his guard. She was watching his face keenly, knowing how much depended on his reaction. But not a muscle twitched and his eyes did not change—she was studying those intently, well aware that the expression of the eyes is a hard thing for even the most masterly bluffer to control. He looked surprised, thought for a second.