“Absolutely destroyed,” she assured him with a smile. “Some day I hope I’ll find courage to ask you whether you thought them becoming.” “Some day,” he retorted, a little grimly, “I am going to have a very serious talk with you, Miss Abbeway.” “Shall you be very stern?” He made no response to her lighter mood. The appeal in her eyes left him colder than ever. “I wish to save your life,” he declared, “and I mean to do it. At the same time, I cannot forget your crime or my complicity in it.” “If you feel like that, then,” she said a little defiantly, “tell the truth. I knew the risk I was running. I am not afraid, even now. You can give me back those papers, if you like. I can assure you that the person on whom they are found will undoubtedly be shot.” “Then I shall certainly retain possession of them,” he decided. “You are very chivalrous, sir,” she ventured, smiling. “I happen to be only selfish,” Julian replied. “I even despise myself for what I am doing. I am turning traitor myself, simply because I could not bear the thought of what might happen to you if you were discovered.” “You like me, then, a little, Mr. Orden?” she asked. “Twenty-four hours ago,” he sighed, “I had hoped to answer that question before it was asked.” “This is very tantalising,” she murmured. “You are going to save my life, then, and afterwards treat me as though I were a leper?” “I shall hope,” he said, “that you may have explanations--that I may find--” She held out her hand and stopped him. Once more, for a moment, her eyes were distended, her form was tense. She was listening intently. “There is some one coming,” she whispered--“two or three men, I think. What fools we have been! We ought to have decided--about the car.” Her teeth came together for a moment. It was her supreme effort at self-control. Then she laughed almost naturally, lit a cigarette, and seated herself upon the arm of an easy-chair. “You are interfering shockingly with my correspondence,” she declared, “and I am sure that they want you for bridge. Here comes Lord Maltenby to tell you so,” she added, glancing towards the door. Lord Maltenby was very pompous, very stiff, and yet apologetic. He considered the whole affair in which he had become involved ridiculous. “Miss Abbeway,” he said, “I beg to present to you Colonel Henderson. An unfortunate occurrence took place here last night, which it has become the duty of--er--Colonel Henderson to clear up. He wishes to ask you a question concerning--er--a motor-car.” Colonel Henderson frowned. He stepped a little forward with the air of wishing to exclude the Earl from further speech. “May I ask, Miss Abbeway,” he began, “whether the small coupe car, standing about a hundred yards down the back avenue, is yours?” “It is,” she assented, with a little sigh. “It won’t go.” “It won’t go?” the Colonel repeated.