"Penelope has disappeared. She went up to town for me the morning after the robbery and has dropped out without a word. You would think that at least she would have written to me. Solly says that some clumsy policeman suspected her of being the burglar, and that she has been frightened into running away. It does seem ridiculous. Really, if I weren't so concerned with my own tragedies I should be worried to death about her. But I expect that she is all right. "Now for Heaven's sake don't disappoint me. Bring or send that money. I am desperate.--A." She read the letter over twice, and added fresh underlines to many that she had already made. Then she sealed and stamped it, and carried it herself to the post bag in the hall. That was over and done with. To the fluffy mind of Adèle Gertstein the situation was met. There were other and more special immediate interests to engage her. There was, for instance, her toilet for Goodwood. An hour before she had cancelled all her arrangements for the race meeting. Who could be thrilled by such an event with black tragedy lurking in the imminent background? She had done with all the foibles and vanities of this life. Her maid, with the suspicion of a wink, had conveyed her decision to those concerned, and preparations had gone forward without a hitch, for her servants knew Mrs. Gertstein. So she conferred with her maid with the deliberation and hesitancy that the momentous decision of what to wear demanded. In something less than an hour she was adorned with a gossamer creation of cream with delicate touches of pale blue, that, as the maid assured her, set off her beauty to perfection. For her closest feminine friend could not have denied Adèle Gertstein's beauty. Still something under thirty, she was tall and supple as a boy. A complexion of roses and cream called for little in the way of artificial preservation, although that little she saw was supplied. Melting blue eyes, a mouth that was inclined to waver a little uncertainly, or a little plaintively or a little piquantly--it depended which way you regarded it--and a delicate chin that she could tilt with charming defiance on occasion, made her a picture on which a man's eye's might dwell restfully. "You think it will do, Rena?" she asked, as she studied herself from a series of angles in the tall mirror. The maid threw up her hands in an eloquent gesture of admiration. "It is simply perfect, madam," she declared. "Then I will go." It was a run of a mere twenty miles from "Maid's Retreat" to Goodwood, and, although Mrs. Gertstein was half-an-hour behind the time she had fixed for her departure her car, in the skilled hands of an immaculate chauffeur, easily made the distance in time for her to join the group of acquaintances with whom she had arranged to lunch.