The visit of his projected father-in-law seemed to Deane like a pleasant little oasis in the middle of a long, dreary day. These rumors of which Lord Nunneley had heard seemed to have come into existence during the last few hours. There had been some large failures lately, and investors were all nervous. The country was short of money. In ordinary times, an attack upon the stability of such a corporation as his would have been impossible. To-day, nothing seemed impossible. In his heart, Deane knew or felt that the situation was safe. Yet the very fact that these rumors had sprung into being seemed to denote the line of defence which Hefferom's lawyers were prepared to offer in the coming trial. He would be accused everywhere--if not in words, in suggestion--of complicity in the murder of Sinclair. The existence of that document would be believed in. It would be said openly, perhaps, that he was responsible himself for its suppression. It was not the fact that on paper he was nearly a quarter of a million poorer than he had been a week ago that troubled him. It was the reflection that bold though his words had been, it was within the power of the man who lay awaiting his trial practically to ruin him. The question of the whereabouts of the document might be, in a few weeks, the most discussed matter in London. Deane, acting upon a sudden impulse, left his office by the back entrance and drove to the small hotel where Winifred was staying. Miss Rowan was at home, he was told, and after a few minutes' delay he was shown into her sitting-room. "Miss Rowan will be with you in a moment," her maid announced, coming through from the bedroom. "She is with her dressmaker at present." Deane nodded, and took up the newspaper mechanically from the table. The room seemed to him almost faint with the perfume of flowers. He glanced around carelessly, and suddenly found his attention riveted upon her writing-table. In a little silver vase, standing by itself, was the red rose which he had bought for her two days since! CHAPTER XVI PASSION She came to him in a few moments, dressed in a fascinating negligée gown,--came to him with a rustle of silk and a faint expression of surprise upon her upraised eyebrows. "I did not expect you until this evening," she remarked. He nodded. "I took the liberty of coming here to ask you a question." She smiled as she sat down upon the sofa. "Oh, the paper is quite safe." "How did you know what I came for?" he asked, a little startled.