‘But I beg of you to tell me where I can find Lord Hartover; or, if I cannot see him, to let me have a few words with you.’ ‘Where is Faublas—anyone know?’ the Colonel asked of the company in general, and so doing I fancied his geniality waned a little and a trace of uneasiness came into his manner. As for me, my heart sank as I heard that name, of all others, used as my poor boy’s sobriquet. ‘Gone down to Chelsea, I believe,’ said the youth who had first spoken to me, hardly repressing a smile. ‘He announced he should dine to-night with the fair unknown.’ ‘I question whether he will be at home even to you, then, Brownlow,’ the Colonel declared, forcing a laugh. ‘In that case I am afraid I must ask for a few minutes’ conversation alone with you.’ We went out into the Park; and there, pacing up and down under the leafless trees, I told all I thought fit. I watched his face as I did so. It was unusually serious. ‘I think, my dear fellow,’ he said at last, ‘you had very much better leave this matter alone.’ I asked why. He fenced with me, pointing out that I had nothing more than suspicion to go upon—no real evidence, circumstantial or otherwise. I urged on him the plain fact that the matter could not be let alone. A great felony had been committed; and it was an offence, not only against honour and right, but against law, to withhold such information as I could give. ‘You will repent it,’ he said. Again I asked why. ‘I beg you to take my word for it, there are reasons,’ he said earnestly. ‘Be advised, my dear Brownlow. Let sleeping dogs lie.’ I was puzzled—how could I help being so? But, more and more, I began to fear the connection between Fédore and Hartover had been resumed. ‘And where is Mademoiselle Fédore now?’ I said presently. ‘’Pon honour, I am not responsible for the whereabouts of gay damsels.’ ‘Then she is no longer with lady Longmoor?’ ‘No, no—has left her these two months—may be in St. Petersburg by now, or in Timbuctoo, for aught I know.’ ‘The police could find her there as well as here.’ His tone changed, becoming as sarcastic as his easy good-nature and not very extensive vocabulary permitted. ‘And so you would really hunt that poor girl to the gallows? Shut her up in gaol—eh? I thought you preached mercy, went in for motives of Christian charity, and so forth. We live and learn—well, well.’ He took another turn, nervously, while I grew increasingly puzzled. Was it possible Fédore might be connected with him, and not with Hartover? If so, what more natural and excusable than his reluctance to satisfy me? That thought softened me. ‘I will do nothing further,’ I said, ‘without consulting his lordship.’ ‘His lordship?’ He shrugged his shoulders, laughing contemptuously. ‘Her ladyship, then.’ He paused a moment. ‘Yes,’ he said; ‘you’re right.’ A new light seemed to break on him. ‘Yes,’ he repeated; ‘we’ll go at once on the chance of finding her at home. It is only seven now. Let’s call a coach.’