As the door slammed behind his nephew, Roger settled himself back into his chair. Arthur’s outbreak had come as a complete surprise. Since his illness, the boy had given the impression that he merely needed a firm hand. He had loafed about the house in a condition not far from melancholia; and at first it had required steady pressure to bring him to take any interest in normal affairs. Gradually he had improved and had passed over into a state of cheerful irresponsibility. And now, just as the specialists were taking an optimistic view of the future, had come this collapse into something which seemed little short of mania, absolutely without warning. “I’ll have to get this looked into,” Roger reflected. “He’s evidently not so far on the road to recovery as we thought.” Arthur’s threat had left him completely indifferent. He had almost forgotten it when he rose again from his chair. In itself it seemed unimportant, merely some wild words flung out in a brain-storm. He left the house and took the road to the Maze. Stenness saw his figure pass into the belt of rhododendrons; and as soon as it had disappeared, the secretary made his way to Roger’s study. An ABC time table was on one of the shelves; and Stenness, taking it down, began to study the times of trains. “I can’t leave it later than that,” he said to himself at last. “The next one wouldn’t get me into London in time for the boat-train.” His eye turned to the window and ranged over the lawns. “Well, it’ll be a hard wrench to leave here, no matter what happens. And I wish I saw to-night over and knew where I stand.” He passed to a fresh line of thought. “At the worst, nothing will matter much if I don’t pull it off.” He replaced the ABC on its shelf and went up to his own room. First locking the door, he began deliberately to pack his razors and other toilette articles in an attaché case. When he had completed this task, he glanced round the room. “Nothing else? No, all the rest of the stuff is waiting for me in London.” CHAPTER II. The Affair in the Maze Howard Torrance fidgeted a little and then turned to the girl beside him. “A bit feeble, just sitting about like this and doing nothing. Care to go down to the tennis courts and play a single?” Vera Forrest knew the symptoms well. A good many men would have been glad enough of the chance to monopolise her and would have asked nothing better than to sit there in the shade in her company. But Howard had a surplus of physical energy which could be worked off only by continual exercise. “What’ll we do next?” was a phrase which ran through his talk like a reiterated battle-cry; and he seemed to have exalted Sloth to the premier position in his private catalogue of the mortal sins. She glanced at him mischievously and decided to tease him a little before letting him have his way. “No, thank you,” she said, sedately. Howard had a second suggestion ready. “Want to go over to the links and play a few holes?” “No, thanks.”