That night there were, after the day's shooting, merry junketings at Hawstead, and Charles Otley bore himself bravely though his heart was heavy. Ever and anon when Peggy had opportunity she whispered cheering words to him, words that encouraged him, though none of the gay party dreamed that they were chatting and dancing with a man who would in a few days stand in a criminal dock. Next day was Sunday. The whole house-party attended the village church in the morning, and in the afternoon the guests split up and went for walks. Soon after dinner Otley, whose seat had been between the steel magnate's wife and her daughter, went outside on the veranda alone. He was in no mood for bridge and preferred a breath of air outside. As he let himself out by one of the French windows of the small drawing-room in the farther wing of the house, a dark figure brushed past him swiftly, and next second had vaulted over the ironwork of the veranda and was lost in the dark bushes beyond. As the stranger had paused to leap from the veranda, a ray of light from the window had caught his countenance. It was only for one brief second, yet Charlie had felt convinced that the countenance was that of a Chinaman. Besides the stealthy cat-like movement of the man was that of an Oriental. Yet what could a Chinaman be doing about that house? He was half inclined to tell his host, yet on reflecting, he thought the probability was that it was some stranger who, attracted by the music and laughter within, had been trying to get a glimpse of the gay party. That night, as the auction bridge proceeded, Otley withdrew from it and went to his room, where he sat down and wrote two notes--one to Peggy and the other to his hostess. In the latter he apologized that he had been suddenly recalled to London on some very urgent business, and that he would leave Malton by the first train in the morning. The note to Peggy he placed in his pocket, and returning to the room where they were now dancing, found her in a flimsy cream gown, sleeveless and cut low--a dress that suited her to perfection--dancing with apparent merriment with young Eastwood, though he knew that her heart was sad. But her face was flushed by excitement, and she was entering thoroughly into the country-house gayety. Presently, however, he was able to slip the note into her hand and whisper a good-by. "I shall be in London on Tuesday and will call at Bennett Street in the evening. We will then talk it all over, dear. Don't despair--for my sake--don't despair!" she said. And compelled to slip back to the ballroom, she crushed the note into her corsage.