"I see you're in a hurry," he said amiably, "so I'll just walk a bit of the way with you. There is a friend of yours most anxious to renew your acquaintance." "Very kind of him; who is he?" "It is not a he, but a she--Mrs. Purcell of Bombay." As was his custom when nervous, the Major's fingers sought his moustache. "Oh, Mrs. Purcell," he said, with a desperate effort to appear at his ease, "what does she want?" "To see you--and Carson, if you can bring him." "Nothing to do with Carson now--better ask his wife 'bout him. As to m'self, no time to hang round old woman--leavin' town." "Mrs. Purcell will be very sorry," said Laurence, smoothly. "Are you going abroad?" "Don't know; depends. What makes you think so?" "Well, I fancied perhaps you might be anxious to join Carson." "Join Carson?" He stopped short and paled a trifle. "What do y' mean? Carson's on his honeymoon." "Oh no, he isn't," retorted Mallow. "Carson's honeymoon is at an end; has been for two weeks or more. He is in Italy now." "In Italy? Damme, how d'you know that?" "Well, about a week ago he wrote to his wife from Florence. It would seem he has gone abroad to look after the money of which he has become possessed by his marriage." "What! You don't tell me he's got the money with him?" "I believe so. Mrs. Carson heard from the solicitor that he had sold the stocks and shares, to a large amount, and had transferred the funds to the Paris branch of the Crédit Lyonnais." With effort Semberry repressed himself. A string of forcible epithets was obviously on the tip of his tongue. Although he was probably aware that Carson had left Sandbeach, it was evidently news to the Major that he and the money were together on the continent. "Seems Carson and his wife don't pull," was all he said. "I fear not," said Mallow, coolly. "In spite of the old adage, Carson seems to have preferred the maid to the mistress." "What d'ye mean?" growled the Major, tugging savagely now at his moustache. "I mean that the girl Clara Trall has joined Carson in Florence." "It's a lie! She wouldn't dare----" Here the Major evidently thought he had said more than enough, for he stopped short. "I am not accustomed to be told I am a liar, sir!" "Beg pardon, Mallow; excuse, slip o' the tongue." "And why should Clara Trall not dare?" "Don't know," replied Semberry, uneasily; "shouldn't think a maid would dare clear out with her mistress's husband." "I am afraid Clara is a bad lot, Major. Why did you recommend her?" "Didn't. Mrs. Arne did." "Who is Mrs. Arne?" "Friend o' mine," snapped the Major, shortly. "'Scuse me, must be getting on. Kind regards to Mrs. Purcell. See her when I get back;" and the brave soldier, picking up his guilty conscience, under fire of Mallow's too-searching questions, fairly ran away.