“Don’t you?” the other returned, in languid surprise. “Oh, yes, I suppose so. If it is all true.” “Of course if it isn’t true we shall have a disclaimer from the Lancashires to-morrow.” “I mean the connection between the broken ornament, the little sword, or whatever it is, and poor Captain Martindale’s death. You knew him, Mary?” “Only by sight. You did, dear, didn’t you?” “Casually. Meeting him about. As a matter of fact I was to have danced with him at the very time he was found dead.” “Alix! You never told me that. How awful!” “It might have been,” the Countess responded composedly. “But I did not see him. It was late; a good many people had gone. He did not come for his dance; then there was a fuss: we were told, at least I was, that Captain Martindale had had a fit, and people went off. I fancy most of the men knew the real state of the case.” Miss Riverdale gave a little shudder. “Horrible! At a dance, too.” “Yes. It was upsetting, even to us who did not know the truth. As we were going, a doctor bustled in, shivering in a great-coat buttoned up to hide the fact that he was only half dressed. I have often thought that great-coat in the ball-room brought home the idea of a tragedy more vividly than the sight of the dead man could have done. Ugh! Don’t let’s talk about it any more, or I shall get the blues.” Her visitor rose. “You look, my dear Alix, as though you had them already. Come across the Park with me. I am going that way home; we are pretty sure to meet some one to enliven us.” Alexia shook her head. “I was out all the morning and am rather tired. I feel too dull even to ask you to stay.” Miss Riverdale scarcely needed a hint to see that she had suddenly become _de trop_. She wondered whether her hostess’s sudden preoccupation was not due to the letter just received; but to wonder was all that was permitted her. Scarcely had the door closed upon her visitor when Alexia took up the note and read it through again, and this time there was no need for her to hide her disquietude. The words were few. “DEAR COUNTESS,-- “I have something of great importance to say to you; if you read the papers you will doubtless guess to what I refer. Will you, in your own interest, be good enough to remove for once the embargo you have laid on my visits, and be at home when I call at four this afternoon? “Yours sincerely, “AUBREY PLAYFORD.” She read it through twice, and as she did so, she seemed to be struggling to evade the grip of a strong will that lurked beneath the words. Then, mechanically, she put the note back into its envelope and turned to glance at the clock. It was nearly four. She hesitated for a few moments, as taking counsel with herself; then rang the bell.