The Duke nodded. "Your father," he said slowly, "is in London?" "Yes, sir." "Alone?" I hesitated. Yet perhaps the Duke had a right to know the truth. "He is with the lady who occupied Braster Grange, sir, until last week," I answered. "She passed under the name of Mrs. Smith-Lessing, but I believe that she is in reality my stepmother." The Duke stood a few paces from me, looking out of the window. He held his cigarette between his fingers, and he stood sideways to me. Nothing about his attitude or face was unusual. Yet I felt myself watching him curiously. There was something about his manner which seemed to me to suggest some powerful emotion only kept in check by the exercise of a strong will. "This is the person, I believe," he said in a slow measured tone, "with whom my son, Lord Blenavon, was said to have been intimate?" "Lord Blenavon was certainly a constant visitor at Braster Grange," I answered. "You know her address in London?" the Duke asked. "Yes." He turned and faced me. He was certainly paler than he had been a few minutes ago. "I should be glad," he said, "if you would arrange for me to have an interview with her." "An interview with Mrs. Smith-Lessing!" I repeated incredulously. The Duke inclined his head. "There are a few questions," he said, "which I wish to ask her." "I can give you her address," I said. "I wish you to see her and arrange for the interview personally," the. Duke answered. "You will see that my visiting her does not prejudice me further with the Board, sir?" I ventured to say. "You can take that for granted," the Duke said. So that afternoon I called at No. 29, Bloomsbury Street, and in a shabby back room of a gloomy, smoke-begrimed lodging-house I found my father and Mrs. Smith-Lessing. He was lying upon a horsehair sofa, apparently dozing. She was gazing negligently out of the window, and drumming upon the window pane with her fingers. My arrival seemed to act like an electric shock upon both of them. It struck me that to her it was not altogether welcome, but my father was nervously anxious to impress upon me his satisfaction at my visit. "Now," he said, drawing his chair up to the table, "we can discuss this little matter in a business-like way. I am delighted to see you, Guy, quite delighted." "What matter?" I asked quietly. My father coughed and looked towards my stepmother, as though for guidance. But her face was a blank. "Guy," he said, "I am sure that you are a young man of common sense. You will prefer that I speak to you plainly. There are some fools at our end--I mean at Paris--who think they will be better off for a glance at the doings of your Military Board. Up to now we have kept them supplied with a little general information. Lord Blenavon, who is a remarkably sensible young man, lent us his assistance. I tell you this quite frankly. I believe that it is best." He was watching me furtively. I did my best to keep my features immovable.