Francis went slowly back to his trio of guests. All the way down the carpeted vestibule he was haunted by the grim shadow of a spectral fear. The frozen horror of that ghastly evening was before him like a hateful tableau. Hilditch's mocking words rang in his cars: “My death is the one thing in the world which would make my wife happy.” The Court scene, with all its gloomy tragedy, rose before his eyes--only in the dock, instead of Hilditch, he saw another! CHAPTER XXIX There were incidents connected with that luncheon which Francis always remembered. In the first place, Sir Timothy was a great deal more silent than usual. A certain vein of half-cynical, half-amusing comment upon things and people of the moment, which seemed, whenever he cared to exert himself, to flow from his lips without effort, had deserted him. He sat where the rather brilliant light from the high windows fell upon his face, and Francis wondered more than once whether there were not some change there, perhaps some prescience of trouble to come, which had subdued him and made him unusually thoughtful. Another slighter but more amusing feature of the luncheon was the number of people who stopped to shake hands with Sir Timothy and made more or less clumsy efforts to obtain an invitation to his coming entertainment. Sir Timothy's reply to these various hints was barely cordial. The most he ever promised was that he would consult with his secretary and see if their numbers were already full. Lady Cynthia, as a somewhat blatant but discomfited Peer of the Realm took his awkward leave of them, laughed softly. “Of course, I think they all deserve what they get,” she declared. “I never heard such brazen impudence in my life--from people who ought to know better, too.” Lord Meadowson, a sporting peer, who was one of Sir Timothy's few intimates, came over to the table. He paid his respects to the two ladies and Francis, and turned a little eagerly to Sir Timothy. “Well?” he asked. Sir Timothy nodded. “We shall be quite prepared for you,” he said. “Better bring your cheque-book.” “Capital!” the other exclaimed. “As I hadn't heard anything, I was beginning to wonder whether you would be ready with your end of the show.” “There will be no hitch so far as we are concerned,” Sir Timothy assured him. “More mysteries?” Margaret enquired, as Meadowson departed with a smile of satisfaction. Her father shrugged his shoulders. “Scarcely that,” he replied. “It is a little wager between Lord Meadowson and myself which is to be settled to-morrow.” Lady Torrington, a fussy little woman, her hostess of the night before, on her way down the room stopped and shook hands with Lady Cynthia. “Why, my dear,” she exclaimed, “wherever did you vanish to last night? Claude told us all that, in the middle of a dance with him, you excused yourself for a moment and he never saw you again. I quite expected to read in the papers this morning that you had eloped.”