“Yes,” nodded the girl. “From head to foot in black, including black gloves. It was rather spectacular----” “Black gloves?” interrupted Tab. “I wonder if it is my burglar?” and he told her of the visitor who had come the night before. “It is extraordinary,” she said, “more extraordinary because he was not seen last night. I am not usually nervous, but I must confess that it is a little worrying to know that somebody is watching me.” “How did he come? Had he a car or bicycle, or did he come by train?” On this point she could not enlighten him. “I almost wish you had not come up,” said Tab. “If you had told me, I would have gone to Stone Cottage and stayed the night, especially after my burglar. I should like to meet the gentleman who treats my flat so unceremoniously.” She made no reply and then: “Why did I come here, I wonder?” she asked, and it was as though she were speaking to herself, for she laughed. “Poor Mr. Tab,” she said, with that little hint of mockery in her voice which he adored, “I am laying all my burdens upon you. Mystery upon mystery, some of my own, but this, I promise you, not of my making.” She considered, her finger at her lips. “Suppose I return to Stone Cottage on Monday morning and you come down later? My woman will be an efficient chaperon, and I think you should come after dark--that is, if you can spare the time.” Tab wanted to tell her that all eternity, so far as he was concerned, was at her disposal, but very wisely refrained. He saw her to her car and went back to his room with a sense of exhilaration that he had not felt all that week. XVII It was a delicate matter broaching the subject of police espionage to Carver. In the first place, he did not want to give the inspector the slightest hint that Ursula Ardfern expected to be watched. He compromised by telling that gloomy man, at the first opportunity, that he had seen Miss Ardfern. And then he mentioned casually and by-the-way, the story of her watcher. “Of course it isn’t a thief,” said Carver promptly. “Thieves do not advertise their presence by alarming the people they hope to rob. Has she complained to the local police?” Tab did not know, but he guessed that she had not. “It may be a coincidence,” said Carver, “and the man in black may really have nothing whatever to do with the murder of Trasmere, but I am intrigued. You are going down, you say? I wonder if Miss Ardfern would mind my coming too?” Tab was in a dilemma here. To hesitate would be to give the police officer a wholly wrong impression. To accept was to eclipse the happy evening he had in prospect. For to be alone with Ursula Ardfern, to stand to her in the nature of a protector, would be a wonderful experience, which he had no desire to share. “I am sure Miss Ardfern would be delighted,” he said. “If I can get away I will come,” said Carver. Tab fervently hoped that urgent business would keep his friend in town.