‘Oh!’ exclaimed Bess, with a sigh of relief. ‘Then perhaps you’ll wait till Miss Duck comes home? I don’t like to leave the house with no one in it,’ she added apologetically. ‘I must wait,’ said Mr. Preene, ‘so you are not putting me to any inconvenience.’ Bess was glad to hear it. As the gentleman had come to see Miss Duck, and knew all about Grigg and Limpet, of course she could ask him in. Mr. Preene stepped in, leaving his hansom waiting. He urged Mrs. Smith not to think about him, but to keep the appointment at once. Bess needed no encouragement. She ran upstairs, put on her mantle and bonnet, gathered a few things together, just what George’s travelling-bag would hold, and, reading her husband’s letter over again, she hurried out. On the doorstep she turned, and once again begged the stranger to assure her that her husband was not ill, and that his hasty summons was not worded so as to conceal the worst from her. Mr. Preene gave the required assurance, bowed her out, and closed the door behind her. At another time Bess might have hesitated at leaving a stranger alone in the house, even though he professed such intimacy with the family. But, do what she would, she could not banish the idea that the message from George implied something unpleasant—something which might prove the first trouble of their short and hitherto unclouded married life. This thought was uppermost in her mind, and banished all other considerations. So she hurried away to Waterloo Station, thinking only of George, and not troubling herself to consider how the unknown visitor might amuse himself in Mr. Duck’s deserted residence. If she could have witnessed Mr. Preene’s behaviour it would have surprised her. That estimable gentleman had no sooner closed the door carefully than he rushed upstairs and into all the rooms, in order to discover which were the apartments lately occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Smith. A cursory inspection of the first floor satisfied him that he need go no further. He had little time to lose, for Miss Duck might be back in a few minutes, Mrs. Smith had informed him, and Mr. Preene particularly wished to conclude his business, and retire without any tiresome explanations. He looked about the room, then pulled a small parcel from his pocket, undid it, and proceeded to secrete the contents about the room. Under the squab of the sofa he placed three of the blank cheques from the book so mysteriously lost by Limpet, junior. In a box in the bed-room, under some clothes, he hid a roll of sham bank-notes. In an old waistcoat of George’s, hanging behind the door, he placed a rouleau of spurious sovereigns; and in the cupboard, hidden away behind some boots, he left a small brown-paper parcel containing a portion of the stock-in-trade of a professional forger.