“Hush, hush! Let us think!” said Olivia, almost sternly. “Why does he accuse him? Why does Bartley Bradstone screen the real criminal? Is it some friend--some one he knows? Ah, I cannot see; it is all dark! If there were only some one to help me! But there is no one, no one. If Bertie----” She stopped with a cry. “But I sent him away! I have brought trouble, nothing but trouble to all who--who loved me!” and she hung her head and sighed. “He will not speak, he will keep silent, but Bartley Bradstone will not be silent. He will tell this lie in open court, and----” She stopped, and a shudder shook her from head to foot. Then she was silent for a moment, still thinking deeply. Suddenly she looked up. “Bertie may be in England; no one can tell. If he were--he loves him, I know. Bessie, you must go to London----” “Me! To London!” said Bessie, with a start; then almost instantly she added, quietly, “Yes, miss, I can be ready in a quarter of an hour,” and she drew herself up and stood with flashing eyes expectantly. Olivia drew her toward her and kissed her. “Now listen to me,” she said, in a low voice, that was firm and steady for the first time since the awful day of the wedding--and the murder. “First, Bessie, go to Lord Carfield’s--I will give you a note.” She darted to her desk and wrote rapidly. “It is asking him to tell me Lord Bertie’s address. If he says he does not know it, go to London to the detective--Mr. McAndrew, of whom you have told me--and tell him to find out if Lord Bertie is in England or within reach. If he is, Mr. McAndrew is to give him this message: ‘Olivia Vanley----’” She stopped, and her face grew red and then white. “No, ‘Olivia,’ only Olivia, ‘wants you to come to her on a matter of life or death.’ That is all. He will ask you for money, very likely.” She flew to her jewel-case, which Bessie had arranged, and snatched the first thing that came to hand. It was Faradeane’s present. Her lips quivered and her eyes filled with tears as she looked at it, and she was putting it back in the case, when, she stayed her hand and exclaimed, suddenly: “Yes, this! How better could I use it than in his service? Take this and give it to Mr. McAndrew. You will find him at Scotland Yard; see, I have written down the address. Telegraph to me, or come back to me with the news; and, oh, Bessie, remember that you and I, two helpless women, are trying to save the life of the man who saved yours, and who is risking his life now to screen some one else!” Bessie gave a great sob, then set her teeth hard, and hurried from the room. In half an hour she had reached Carfield Towers and delivered the note. Lord Carfield came out to her, as she was waiting in the brougham. “Tell your dear mistress, my girl,” he said, sadly, “that I am as ignorant as she is of my son’s whereabouts. Of course, it is on account of Mr. Faradeane and this terrible mystery that she wants him?”