"How do you do, Mr. Monteith?" she said, in her low, sweet voice; "you are quite a stranger." Ronald muttered something about business as he took her hand, and then sat down, thinking to himself that this heartless coquette could never have cared for him. Carmela on her part, rang for afternoon tea, and then began to talk lightly of the most commonplace topics, much to Ronald's secret irritation. "Sir Mark and Miss Trevor are out," she said, gaily, leaning back in her chair; "and it is a mere chance you found me in." "When do you go to Marlow?" asked the Australian, abruptly. "Next week, I think. I must confess I am a little tired of London." "And Vassalla?" She looked annoyed. "I do not know what my cousin is going to do. Ah! here is the tea. Let me give you a cup;" rising and going to the table. "Thank you," said Ronald, mechanically; "I want to speak to you on serious business." "Do you indeed?" carelessly. "Milk and sugar?" "Both," he answered, annoyed at the flippancy of her tone; "this business is very serious." "It must be, judging from your tone," she replied, giving him his tea, and returning to her own seat. "By the way, what did you think of the Italian Exhibition?" "What!" he said, with a sudden start. "Oh, yes, of course--I met you there when I was with Mrs. Taunton." Carmela winced; so her rival was a married woman! "I do not know her," she said, idly balancing her spoon on the edge of her cup. "No," he said, bending forward; "but you know a relative of hers." "Indeed!" carelessly; "and his name?" "Leopold Verschoyle." Carmela let her spoon fall with a crash, and turned her pale, scared face to Ronald quickly. "Leopold Verschoyle?" she said, rapidly, while her breath came quick and sharp. "What do you know of Leopold Verschoyle?" "I know he was your sister's husband." "Was!" she smiled scornfully. "You speak in the past tense because of his divorce." "No; I speak in the past tense because of his death." "Death!" She arose to her feet with a look of horror in her dark eyes. "Is Leopold Verschoyle dead?" "Yes. I will tell you all about it if you will answer a question." She sat down again, pale but composed. "And the question?" "Was your sister, Mrs. Verschoyle, on board the night the 'Neptune' left Malta?" "Yes." Ronald sprang to his feet in horror. "Are you sure?" "Of course I am," she answered, raising her eyebrows. "My sister and myself had a quarrel during the day, and I did not say good-bye to her at the house, so I suppose she was sorry, for she came on board and took leave of me there." "But Vassalla says she was not on board." Carmela looked surprised. "Why, he was with her all the time! I was separated from them by the crowd, and I did not see my sister again, but Vassalla told me he had seen her safely down the gangway before the ship sailed." Ronald sat wrapped in thought; so Foster was right, there was some plot on foot; he made another attempt.