“What is it Father?” said Lady Heritage—“Government inspection?” “Nonsense,” said Sir William slowly. “Henry March wants to come down for the night.” Jane bent forward over her papers. No one was looking at her, no one was thinking of her, but she had felt her cheeks grow hot, and was glad of an excuse to hide them. She did not know whether she was very much afraid or very glad. A feeling unfamiliar but overwhelming seemed to shake her to the depths. She was quite unconscious of what was passing behind her. At Henry’s name, Raymond Heritage uttered a sharp, “Oh no!” She came quickly forward as she spoke and caught the letter from Sir William’s hand. “He can’t come—I can’t have him here—put him off, Father; you can make some excuse!” “Nonsense!” said Sir William again. “It’s a nuisance, of course—it’s an infernal nuisance—but he’ll have to come, confound him!” Then, as she made a half-articulate protest, he went on with increasing loss of temper: “Good heavens! I can’t very well tell the man I won’t have him in what is practically his own house.” It was Ember, not her father, who saw how frightfully pale Raymond became. In a very low voice she said: “No, I suppose not.” Sir William was fidgeting. He looked at Jane’s back. “Of course, he’s coming down on business.” Then he broke off and stared at Jane again. Lady Heritage nodded. “Miss Molloy,” she said. “You can take half an hour off.” CHAPTER VIII Henry arrived on the following day and was shown straight into Sir William’s study. Half an hour later Sir William rang the bell and sent for Lady Heritage. He hardly gave her time to shake hands before he burst out: “I said you must be told. I take all responsibility for your being told. After all, if I am conducting these experiments, something is due to me, though the Government appear to think otherwise. But I take all responsibility; I insist on your being told.” He sat at his littered table, and all the time that he was speaking his hands were lifting and shuffling the papers on it. At his elbow stood a tray with tantalus and glasses and a syphon. Only one glass had been used. “What is it?” said Raymond. Her eyes went from her father to Henry. Sir William’s hand was shaking. Henry wore a look of grave concern. “What is it?” she repeated. “It’s Formula ‘A’”—Sir William’s voice was just a deep growl. “He comes here, and he tells me that Formula ‘A’ has been stolen. I’ve told him to his face, and I tell him again, that it’s a damned impossibility.” The shaking hand fell heavily upon the table and made the glasses ring. “Formula ‘A’?” said Raymond—“stolen? Henry, you can’t mean it?” “I’m afraid I do,” said Henry, at his quietest. “I’m afraid there’s no doubt about it. We have the most indisputable evidence that Formula ‘A’ has been offered to—well, to a foreign power.”