"Thank you, no," said Mr. Bingle nervously. "I--I think I'd better see him alone. Now, Mary, don't look frightened. I haven't the remotest idea what he wants, but as I haven't been up to anything--ahem! Keep your seat, Frederick!" "I want to see a detective," pleaded Frederick. "Is he disguised, Diggs? Has he got on false whiskers? Please, daddy--" "Maybe it's old Santy," cried Wilberforce in a voice that thrilled. Mr. Bingle left a pleasant atmosphere of excitement behind him when he disappeared between the portieres. At once the company broke into eager, speculative whispers that soon grew to a perfect storm of shrill inquiry. Every one was guessing, and every one was guessing as loudly as possible in order to be heard above the clamour. It might have been observed that at least three or four of the servants shot furtive glances in the direction of the hall, and appeared to be anxious and uncomfortable. While the excitement was at its height, Flanders deliberately planted himself at Miss Fairweather's elbow. She looked up into his face. Every vestige of colour had left her own. Her eyes were wide with alarm. "Come with me, Amy," he said in a low tone. "I must have a word with you. Make believe that you are showing me the--the pictures. We can talk safely in that corner over there." She arose without a word and followed him to a far corner of the room, where they would be quite free from interruption. "Oh, Dick!" she murmured, in great distress. "Do you know anything? Who is this detective? Has he come to--" "Sh! Why, you're actually shivering! Here, sit down in the window seat--behind the curtain, dearest. What have you to be afraid of? You've done no wrong." She sank down on the window seat. The thick lace curtain shielded her agitated face from the view of all inquiring eyes save those of the tall, eager young man who sat down beside her. "They don't know that I was on the stage, Dick. They wouldn't have me here if they knew that I've been an actress. I--Oh, I hope--" "Brace up, darling! This detective isn't interested in you. What motive could he have in looking you up? Bingle is in the dark, so it's evident he hasn't hired any one to investigate your past. Forget it! That isn't what I want to talk to you about. I've been half-crazy, dear, for the past eight months. Why did you run away without giving me a chance to square myself after that miserable night? Don't get up! I've found you and I'm determined to have it out with you, Amy. You've just got to hear what I have to say." His hand was upon her arm, a firm restraining grasp that checked her attempt to escape. Undismayed by the look of scorn that leaped into her eyes, he leaned closer and spoke in quick agitated whispers.