Late one evening Duperre returned unexpectedly in a hired car from Thirsk. We had finished dinner, and I chanced to be with Rayne in the library, yet longing to get to the old-fashioned drawing-room with its sweet odor of potpourri, where Lola was, I knew, sitting immersed in the latest novel. "Hallo, Vincent! Why, I thought you were still in Aix-les-Bains!" cried Rayne, much surprised, and yet a trifle excited, which was quite unusual for him. "There's a nasty little hitch!" replied the other, still in his heavy traveling coat. Then, turning to me, he said: "Hargreave, old chap, will you leave for a moment or two? I want to speak to Rudolph." "Of course," I said. I was by that time used to those confidential conversations, and I walked along the corridor and joined Lola. "I'm very troubled, Mr. Hargreave," the girl suddenly exclaimed in a low, timid voice after we had been chatting a short time. "I overheard father whispering something to Madame Duperre to-day." "Whispering something!" I echoed. "What was that?" "Something about Mr. Martyn, that American gentleman he met in Edinburgh," she replied. "Father was chuckling to himself, saying that he had taken good precautions to prevent him proving an alibi. Father seemed filled with the fiercest anger against him. I'm sure he's an awfully nice man, though we hardly know him. What can it mean?" An alibi? I reflected. I replied that it was as mysterious to me as to her. Like herself I lived in a clouded atmosphere of rapidly changing circumstances, mysterious plots and unknown evil deeds--truly a world of fear and bewilderment. Some days later I had driven up to London in the Rolls with Duperre, leaving Rayne and Lola at home, Duperre's wife being away somewhere on a visit. We took up our quarters at Rayne's chambers, and next day idled about London together. Just before we went out to dinner Martyn called, and after taking a drink Duperre went out with him, remarking to me that he would be in soon after eleven. Hence I went to the theater, and on returning at midnight awaited him. I sat reading by the fire and dozed till just past two o'clock, when he returned dressed in unfamiliar clothes: a rough suit of tweeds in which he presented the appearance of a respectable artisan. His left hand was bound roughly with a colored handkerchief, and he appeared very exhausted. Before speaking he poured himself out a liqueur glass of neat brandy which he swallowed at a single gulp. "I've had a rather nasty accident, George," he said. "I've cut my hand pretty badly. Only not a soul must know about it--you understand?" I nodded, and then at his request I assisted him to wash the wound and rebandage it. "What's been the matter?" I asked with curiosity. "Nothing very much," was his hard reply. "You'll probably know all about it to-morrow. The papers will be full of it. But mind and keep your mouth shut very tightly."