“I thought that too,” said Jack Knebworth, “but when I asked him to let me see the note, he just grinned.” “Do you know who it’s from?” “No more than a crow, my dear,” said Knebworth patiently. “And now let’s get off the all-absorbing subject of Michael Brixan, and get back to the fair Roselle. That shot I took of the tower can’t be bettered, so I’m going to cut out the night picture, and from now on we’ll work on the lot.” The production was a heavy one, unusually so for one of Knebworth’s; the settings more elaborate, the crowd bigger than ever he had handled since he came to England. It was not an easy day for the girl, and she was utterly fagged when she started homeward that night. “Ain’t seen Mr. Brixan, miss?” said a high-pitched voice as she reached the side-walk. She turned with a start. She had forgotten the existence of the tramp. “No, he hasn’t been,” she said. “You had better see Mr. Knebworth again. Mr. Brixan lives with him.” “Don’t I know it? Ain’t I got all the information possible about him? I should say I had!” “He is in London: I suppose you know that?” “He ain’t in London,” said the other disappointedly. “If he was in London, I shouldn’t be hanging around here, should I? No, he left London yesterday. I’m going to wait till I see him.” She was amused by his pertinacity, though it was difficult for her to be amused at anything in the state of utter weariness into which she had fallen. Crossing the market square, she had to jump quickly to avoid being knocked down by a car which she knew was Stella Mendoza’s. Stella could be at times a little reckless, and the motto upon the golden mascot on her radiator—“Jump or Die”—held a touch of sincerity. She was in a desperate hurry now, and cursed fluently as she swung her car to avoid the girl, whom she recognized. Sir Gregory had come to his senses, and she wanted to get at him before he lost them again. She pulled up the car with a jerk at the gates of Griff Towers, flung open the door and jumped out. “If I don’t return in two hours, you can go into Chichester and fetch the police,” she said. CHAPTER XXXII GREGORY’S WAY STELLA had left a note to the same effect on her table. If she did not return by a certain hour, the police were to read the letter they would find on her mantelpiece. She had not allowed for the fact that neither note nor letter would be seen until the next morning.