“She has no father--no relations except her mother, who is an invalid and lives in Florence--at least I thought so,” snapped Kenneth. “What did she do?” The young man heaved a deep sigh. “Nothing--just said: ‘How queer meeting you!’ talked about the beautiful day, and when I asked her what it all meant and what this man was to her--he had walked on and left us alone--she flatly refused to say anything. Just turned on her heel and went after him.” “Extraordinary!” said Mr. Machfield. “You have seen her since?” Kenneth nodded grimly. “That same night she came to Marlow to see me. She begged me to trust her--she was really wonderful. It was terribly surprising to see her there at all. When I came down into the dining-room and found her there, I was knocked out--the servant didn’t say who she was and I kept her waiting.” “Well?” asked his companion, when he paused. “Well,” said Kenneth awkwardly, “one _has_ to trust people one loves. She said that he was a relation--she never told me that she had one until then.” “Except her mother who lives in Florence--that costs money, especially an invalid mother,” mused Rufus, fingering his long, clean-shaven upper lip. “What is the trouble now? You’ve quarrelled?” Kenneth took a letter out of his pocket and passed it across to his friend, and Mr. Machfield opened and read it. “Dear Kenneth: I’m not seeing you any more. I’m broken-hearted to tell you this. Please don’t try to see me--please! M.” “When did this come?” “Last night. Naturally, I went to her flat. She was out. I went to her office--she was out. I was late for the bank and got a terrible roasting from the manager. To make matters worse, there’s a fellow dunning me for two hundred pounds--everything comes at once. I borrowed the money for dad. What with one thing and another I’m desperate.” Mr. Machfield rose from his chair. “Come home and have a meal,” he said. “As for the money----” “No, no, no!” Kenneth McKay was panic-stricken. “I don’t want to borrow from you--I won’t! Gad! I’d like to find that old swine and throttle him! He’s at the back of it! He has told her not to have anything more to do with me.” “You don’t know his name?” “No. He may live in the neighbourhood, but I haven’t seen him. I’m going to do a little detective work.” He added abruptly: “Do you know a man named Reeder--J.G. Reeder?” Mr. Machfield shook his head. “He’s a detective,” explained Kenneth. “He has a big bank practice. He was down at our place to-day--queer-looking devil. If he could be a detective anybody could be!” Mr. Machfield said he recalled the name. “He was in that railway robbery, wasn’t he? J.G. Reeder--yes. Pretty smart fellow--young?” “He’s as old as--well, he’s pretty old. And rather old-fashioned.” “Why do you mention him?” Mr. Machfield was interested. “I don’t know. Talking about detective work brought him into my mind, I suppose.” Rufus snapped his finger to the waiter and paid his bill.