"Certainly. You know my opinion of Major Semberry, Mr. Mallow. He is a man utterly without conscience, without scruple, without religion. He cultivates the most extravagant tastes, while possessing means insufficient to gratify them. To place himself beyond the pinch of poverty I am convinced that he would hesitate at no crime--so long, of course, as he saw his way clear to avert the consequences." "Well," said Laurence, "there is one method of throwing light on the matter which I would like to propose; it is that you permit me to bring Semberry here to you that you may tax him with this fraud to his face, and in my presence." "By all means do so, Mr. Mallow. You may depend upon my acting with all discretion. In the mean time I will communicate with Olive at Sandbeach, and invite her to come to me as soon as she can. And, Mr. Mallow, permit me cordially to thank you for the infinite pains at which you have been to place me completely in possession of the facts of this very terrible matter. Together we will go into it, and see whether we cannot unravel what at present appears to be a mystery of the most complex order. Good-night, Mr. Mallow, good-night." "Good-bye, Mrs. Purcell. I am afraid we shall find our task no light one." "Not light, perhaps, but not impossible; and what is not impossible is always possible, is it not, Mr. Mallow?" With this consolatory truism Mrs. Purcell dismissed her coadjutor and addressed herself to the task of writing to Olive. She did not tell her how much she knew of her story, but merely that she was aware of her husband having deserted her. She invited her to come at once to London, and urged the advantage of her being on the spot while affairs were being investigated. Mrs. Purcell rejoiced in her character of _dea ex machinâ_ and poured forth pages of ponderous English such as would have done credit to the conduct of a political intrigue. The rôle appealed to her. She imagined herself a true Madame de Staël. Mallow could have chosen no better assistant. He got no sleep that night. His mind was full of his projected visit to Semberry. In the morning he started off for Marquis Street, but found that, early as it was, Semberry had already gone out--on business, according to his valet, though as to the nature of the business the man maintained complete ignorance. Leaving word that he would return about one o'clock, Mallow wandered about aimlessly, until, bethinking himself that he was wasting valuable time, he determined to try his luck in Soho, and look up Drabble. He had no sooner turned into Poplar Street, than he came face to face with Semberry. Judging from his expression, the Major was in no very good tune. It was more than probable he had been calling upon Drabble, and the interview had not been to his liking. "Good-morning, Semberry," said Mallow, blocking the way, "I'm glad to see you." "Morning," he grunted, and made as to pass, a move which Mallow soon thwarted.