"I have come," Heneage said quietly, "to offer you some very good advice. You are run down, and you look it. You need a change. I should recommend a sea voyage, the longer the better. They say that your paper is making a lot of money. Why not a voyage round the world?" "What the devil do you mean?" Wrayson asked. Heneage flicked off the ash from his cigarette, and looked for a moment thoughtfully into the fire. "Three weeks ago last Thursday, I think it was," he began, reflectively, "I had supper with Austin at the Green Room Club, after the theatre. He persuaded me, rather against my will, I remember, for I was tired that night, to go home with him and make a fourth at bridge. Austin's flat, as you know, is just below here, on the Albert Road." Wrayson stopped smoking. The cigarette burned unheeded between his fingers. His eyes were fixed upon his visitor. "Go on," he said. "We played five rubbers," Heneage continued, still looking into the fire; "it may have been six. I left somewhere in the small hours of the morning, and walked along the Albert Road on the unlit side of the street. As I passed the corner here, I saw a hansom waiting before your door, and you--with somebody else, standing on the pavement." "Anything else?" Wrayson demanded. "No!" Heneage answered. "I saw you, I saw the lady, and I saw the cab. It was a cold morning, and I am not naturally a curious person. I hurried on." Wrayson picked up the cigarette, which had fallen from his fingers, and sat down. He could scarcely believe that this was not a dream--that it was indeed Stephen Heneage who sat opposite to him, Heneage the impenetrable, whose calm, measured words left no indication whatever as to his motive in making this amazing revelation. "You are naturally wondering," Heneage continued, "why, having seen what I did see, I kept silence. I followed your lead, because I fancied, in the first place, that the presence of that young lady was a personal affair of your own, and that she could have no possible connection with the tragedy itself. You were evidently disposed to shield her and yourself at the same time. I considered your attitude reasonable, if a little dangerous. No man is obliged to give himself away in matters of this sort, and I am no scandalmonger. The situation, however, has undergone a change." Wrayson looked up quickly. "What do you mean?" he asked. "To-night," Heneage said calmly, "I recognized your nocturnal visitor with the Baroness de Sturm. "And what of that?" Wrayson demanded. Heneage, who was leaning back in his chair, looking into the fire with half closed eyes, straightened himself, and turned directly towards his companion. "How much do you know about the Baroness de Sturm?" he asked. "Nothing at all," Wrayson answered. "I met her for the first time to-night." Heneage looked back into the fire. "Ah!" he murmured. "I thought that it might be so. The young lady is perhaps an old friend?"