“I always thought you had a grain of sense hidden away somewhere,” he said, paying her a striking tribute. “I hope now that we’ve heard the last of all this foolishness about that young hound Marlowe.” “You certainly have! I don’t want ever to see him again! I hate him!” “You couldn’t do better, my dear,” said Mr. Bennett, approvingly. “And now run away. Mr. Peters and I have some business to discuss.” A quarter of an hour later, Webster, the valet, sunning himself in the stable-yard, was aware of the daughter of his employer approaching him. “Webster,” said Billie. She was still pale. Her face was still hard, and her eyes still gleamed coldly. “Miss?” said Webster politely, throwing away the cigarette with which he had been refreshing himself. “Will you do something for me?” “I should be more than delighted, miss.” Billie whisked into view an envelope which had been concealed in the recesses of her dress. “Do you know the country about here well, Webster?” “Within a certain radius, not unintimately, miss. I have been for several enjoyable rambles since the fine weather set in.” “Do you know the place where there is a road leading to Havant, and another to Cosham? It’s about a mile down....” “I know the spot well, miss.” “Well, straight in front of you when you get to the sign-post there is a little lane....” “I know it, miss,” said Webster, with a faint smile. Twice had he escorted Miss Trimblett, Billie’s maid, thither. “A delightfully romantic spot. What with the overhanging trees, the wealth of blackberry bushes, the varied wild-flowers....” “Yes, never mind about the wild-flowers now. I want you after lunch, to take this note to a gentleman you will find sitting on the gate at the bottom of the lane....” “Sitting on the gate, miss. Yes, miss.” “Or leaning against it. You can’t mistake him. He is rather tall and ... oh, well, there isn’t likely to be anybody else there, so you can’t make a mistake. Give him this, will you?” “Certainly, miss. Er—any message?” “Any what?” “Any verbal message, miss?” “No, certainly not! You won’t forget, will you, Webster?” “On no account whatever, miss. Shall I wait for an answer?” “There won’t be any answer,” said Billie, setting her teeth for an instant. “Oh, Webster!” “Miss?” “I can rely on you to say nothing to anybody?” “Most undoubtedly, miss. Most undoubtedly.” “Does anybody know anything about a feller named S. Marlowe?” inquired Webster, entering the kitchen. “Don’t all speak at once! S. Marlowe. Ever heard of him?” He paused for a reply, but nobody had any information to impart. “Because there’s something jolly well up! Our Miss B. is sending me with notes for him to the bottom of lanes.” “And her engaged to young Mr. Mortimer!” said the scullery-maid, shocked. “The way they go on. Chronic!” said the scullery-maid.