“What was the woman like?” asked Carver again. “I have an idea she was young, but I did not see her face. She was dressed in black and as far as I could see, veiled. The other man was small; he only came up to her shoulder.” “That is that,” said Carver disconsolately, when they came away. “They ought to have been caught, if that man had the spunk of a rabbit. You are very silent, Tab--what are you thinking?” “I am wondering,” said Tab truthfully, “just wondering.” “What are you wondering?” growled the other. “I am wondering whether old Trasmere was a much worse man than any of us imagine,” said Tab calmly. XIV Early in the morning Tab paid a fruitless visit to Stone Cottage. The woman who acted as caretaker told him that the young lady had returned to town, and it was at the Central Hotel that he saw her. Never had he approached an enquiry, professional or otherwise, with such reluctance. On most matters Tab had very definite views. His mentality was such that he never hesitated to form a judgment, or wavered in his convictions. That type of mind cannot understand in others the vacillating hesitancy, which so often distinguishes them in their judgment of people and things. And yet, strive as he did, he could not reduce to a formula, his own chaotic feelings in relation to Ursula Ardfern. One thing he knew. It was no vicarious interest he was showing--he did not even in his own mind regard himself as standing for Rex Lander. Tab thought best with a pen in his hand, yet when in cold blood he endeavoured to reduce to writing the exact state of his mind in relation to Ursula Ardfern, the white sheet of paper remained white to the end. The moment he entered her sitting-room, Tab felt that Ursula knew the object of his visit. “You want to see me very badly, don’t you?” she said, without preliminary, and he nodded. “What is it?” Unless he was dreaming, her voice held a subtle caress, and yet that was a ridiculous exaggeration: perhaps “kindness” were a better word. “Somebody went into Mayfield last night, accompanied by a Chinaman, and they got away just before the police arrived,” said Tab awkwardly, “and that isn’t all; that same somebody has been in the habit of visiting Trasmere between eleven at night and two in the morning, and this practice has been going on for a considerable time.” She nodded. “I told you I did not know Mr. Trasmere,” she said quietly. “It is the only lie I have told you. I knew Mr. Trasmere very well, but there were reasons why it would have been fatal for me to have admitted my friendship with him. No, not one lie--two.” She held up her fingers to emphasize her words. “The other was about the lost jewel-case,” said Tab huskily. “Yes,” she replied. “You didn’t lose it at all.” She shook her head. “No, I didn’t lose it at all; I knew where it was all the time, but I was--panic stricken, and had to make a decision on the spur of the moment. I do not regret it.” There was a pause.