"--Basingstoke," the envelope said plainly, adding as an incomplete afterthought, "General Post-O"--and there ending. The handwriting was, like Hypatia's, graceful and self-conscious. That is to say, it was legible, clear, and the letters were shaped by design and not by accident. He never doubted for an instant whose hand it was that had written those words. He went through the waste-paper basket's other contents for more of that handwriting. There was not a scrap. The waiter, coming in with accessories to the still-withheld luncheon, stared at him. "Something thrown away by mistake," he said, and pursued the search. No--nothing. But that she had been here was plain; that she still might be here was possible. She must have come by train or by motor--what motor? Train from what station? He went out into the hall to question the highly coiffured young lady whom he had noticed as he came in, the lady who sits in the glass cage where the keys are kept, and enters your name in the book when you engage your room. The cage was empty, the hall was empty. On the hall-table's dark mahogany lay a shining salver, and on the salver lay a few letters. He picked them up. The one on the top was addressed fully--to MR. BASINGSTOKE, General Post-Office, London. The one below was addressed to-- MISS DAVENANT, The Hall, Jevington, Sussex. Edward glanced round; he was still alone. He put the letters in his pocket and went back to the coffee-room. Charles's attentions had been directed, in his absence, to the waiter, who had thus been detained from his duties. "Any one else lunching here to-day?" he asked, restraining Charles. "Mostly over by now, sir," said the waiter. "That dog--dangerous, ain't he, sir?" "Not a bit," said Edward; "he only took a fancy to you." "Wouldn't let me pass--like," said the waiter. "Only his play," said Edward. "He merely wants his dinner. You've been rather a long time bringing his biscuits. I expect he thought you'd got them in your pocket." "Sorry, sir," the waiter said, and explained that, being single-handed at that hour, he had had to attend to the other party's lunch, "in the garden, sir," he added, "though why the garden when everything's nice and ready in here--to say nothing of earwigs in your glass, and beetles, and everything to be carried half a mile--" He ceased abruptly. "I should like to see the garden," said Edward, "while I'm waiting." "Lunch ready directly, sir," said the waiter. "Hardly worth while to have it out there now, sir--" "Which way?" Edward asked, and was told. He went through the hall, under a vine-covered trellis, and the garden blazed before him--a really charming garden, all green and red and yellow; beyond the lawn was an arbor with a light network of hops above it. In that arbor was a white-spread table. There was also movement; people were seated at the table.