“‘Dear Incomparable Marjorie’”—read Mr. Bathurst—“‘At the risk of punishing myself far too severely to contemplate, by driving the smile from your two wonderful eyes’—Mr. Llewellyn wields a pretty pen, Daventry—you’d better listen to this—‘I once again write to you to ask you to reconsider the answer you gave me a little while ago to a very important question. A question that affects me—body and soul. For, dear, peerless Marjorie, monotonous though it may sound to you—I love you! To say that I worship the ground that you walk upon is by no means an exaggeration—judge then how much more I worship _you_! When you are away from me life is most unutterably empty—the sun ceases to shine—the flower to bloom—the bird to sing—everything is bitter emptiness and desperate waste. Marjorie—marry me! I refuse to accept your previous answers as final! And if your guardian endeavors to interfere between us, as you threaten will happen—his blood be upon his own head! I am a desperate man—desperate with love for you, Marjorie—and desperate men have a habit of using desperate remedies. Let me know your answer after dinner to-night, and may that answer bring mad joy to the heart of—Morgan Llewellyn.’” Anthony whistled, “Dear me, Daventry, do you know I hardly suspected anything quite so ardent as this!” He looked up, and although his tone still contained a hint of raillery, there was at the same time a strong hint of gravity also. But Peter was in no mood for banter and in none too good a temper for serious discussion. “After all, say what you like,” he muttered, “that letter was written to Miss Marjorie Lennox, and it hardly seems decent to me for us to have read it—that’s the worst of this investigation business.” “You feel this particular instance rather too acutely, I fear, Daventry,” said Anthony gaily, “it touches you on a tender spot.” Peter’s sole reply was inarticulate—a grunt. Anthony tried a different tack. “I had hoped,” he chided gently, “that a rather effective piece of work on my part might have received some measure of congratulation.” Peter swung round—instant with shamefaced apology. “I say, I’m frightfully sorry, Bathurst. It was too bad of me altogether. Really I do congratulate you on a topping shot—forgive my discourtesy—it was inexcusable on my part.” Anthony grinned—pleased nevertheless at the unmistakable sincerity of the compliment. “Thank you—it wasn’t too bad a shot—although I candidly admit the actual result has surprised me.” He tapped the letter with his forefinger. “At the same time we must realize that this is most important. It explains a good deal that was previously somewhat puzzling. We know now for certain why Miss Lennox was in here with her guardian after the Colonel’s departure.” Peter raised his eyebrows. “Why—exactly?”