“But—but,” Slotman said, “I—” He was thinking. He was trying to reconcile what he had heard in his own office when he had spied on Hugh Alston and Joan, when on that occasion he had heard Hugh offer marriage to the girl as an act of atonement. How could he offer marriage if they were already married? There was something wrong, some mistake! “But what?” snapped her ladyship, who had taken an exceeding dislike to the perspiring Mr. Slotman. “Is your ladyship certain that they were married? I mean—” he fumbled and stammered. Lady Linden pointed to the door. “Good afternoon!” she said. “I don’t know what business it is of yours, and I don’t care. All I know is that if Hugh Alston is a fool, he is not a knave, so you have my permission to retire.” Mr. Slotman retired, but it was not till some hours had passed that he finally left the neighbourhood of Cornbridge. He had been making discreet enquiries, and he found on every side that her ladyship’s story was corroborated. For Lady Linden talked, and it was asking too much of any lady who was fond of a chat to expect her to keep silent on a matter of such interest. Lady Linden had discussed Hugh Alston’s marriage with Mrs. Pontifex, the Rector’s wife, who in turn had discussed it with others. So, little by little, the story had leaked out, and all Cornbridge knew it, and Mr. Slotman found ample corroboration of Lady Linden’s story. Not till he was in the train did Mr. Slotman begin to gather together all the threads of evidence. “I should not describe Lady Linden as a pleasant person,” he decided, “still, her information will prove of the utmost value to me. On the whole I am glad I went.” He felt satisfied; he had discovered all that was discoverable, so far as Cornbridge was concerned. “Married in eighteen, June of eighteen,” he muttered, “at Marlbury, Dorset. I’ll bet she wasn’t! She may have said she was, but she wasn’t!” He chuckled grimly. He was beginning to see through it. “I suppose she told that tale, and then it got about, and then the fellow came and offered her marriage as the only possible way out. I’d like to choke the brute!” Slotman slept that night in London, and early the following morning he was on his way to Marlbury. He found it a little quiet country town, where information was to be had readily enough. It took him but a few minutes to discover that there was a school for young ladies, a school of repute, kept by a Miss Skinner. It was the only ladies’ school in or near the town, and so Mr. Slotman made his way in that direction, and in a little time was ushered into the presence of the headmistress. “I must apologise,” he said, “for this intrusion.” Miss Skinner bowed. She was tall and thin, angular and severe, a typical headmistress, stern and unyielding. “I am,” Slotman lied, “a solicitor from London, and I am interested in a young lady who a matter of three years ago was, I believe, a pupil in this school.” “Indeed?” “Miss Joan Meredyth,” said Slotman.