“I wasn’t referring to that,” said Mr. Reeder. “When I said it was remarkable, I was thinking that it was both odd and remarkable that he should have wired to her at an hotel where she has never stayed before.” Dr. Ingham’s jaw dropped. “Good heavens!” he gasped. His face had gone pale; it was as though there had come to him a sudden realization of just what this telegram might signify. “That did not occur to me.… She had never stayed there before--are you sure?” Mr. Reeder nodded. “She mentioned it casually last night just before she was leaving--I presume she told you she called on me? No, usually she stays at the hotel her father patronizes. She stayed at the Haymarket because it was close to Mr. Ralph’s office. At any rate, he would have telegraphed to Bishop’s Stortford.” “It is strange,” said the clergyman after a pause. “It _is_ strange,” said Mr. Reeder. “It has assumed the appearance of--um--a case. Distinctly a case.” For a long time he seemed totally absorbed in the rivulets of rain which trickled down the panes of his window. “It is certainly bewildering,” said Dr. Ingham at last. “I confess I am becoming alarmed. This red-haired young man, for example----” “Miss Ralph told you that?” “Miss Gillette--your charming secretary. She arrived at the hotel with her brother----” “Her young man,” corrected Mr. Reeder, and coughed. “Really? She did not introduce him.” “She never does anything that she should do,” said Mr. Reeder bitterly. He swung round in his swivel chair as though forcing himself from the hypnotic attractions of wriggling rain drops. “The red-haired young man is also remarkable. I am rather worried about him. He stands as it were on the threshold of--um--life. In a few years’ time he may be in the happy enjoyment of a red haired wife and--um--red haired children. To be cut off in his prime, and just because his father was ill and he under-valued a diamond brooch or clasp, would be grossly unfair.” The doctor stared at him blankly. “I don’t quite know what you mean. To be cut off… You don’t mean that this young man is in _danger?_” “I wonder!” said Mr. Reeder. For a long while they sat gloomily surveying each other. “I am bewildered,” sighed Dr. Ingham at last. “I feel as if I had strayed into some terrible land of unreality. Mr. Reeder,” he leant forward, “are you ever in Kent?” “I live there,” said Mr. Reeder, as indeed he did, for Brockley Road is situated on the London fringe of that county.