She thought of that reservation with some tenderness. He had loved her then, whatever might be his feelings now, and the love of a strong man does not easily evaporate, nor is it destroyed at a word. Since their marriage his piano had not been opened. He had been a subscriber to almost every musical event in London, yet he had not attended a single concert, not once visited the opera. With the playing of the “Melody in F” it seemed to her there had ended one precious period of his life. She had suggested once that they should go to a concert which all musical London was attending. “Perhaps you would like to go,” he had suggested briefly. “I am afraid I shall be rather busy that night.” This, after he had told her not once, but a score of times that music expressed to him every message and every emotion in language clearer than the printed word. What did it mean? She was seized with a sudden energy, a sudden desire for knowledge--she wanted to share a greater portion of his life. What connection had this melody with the sudden change that had come to him? What association had it with the adoption of this strenuous life of his lately? What had it to do with his resignation from the Foreign Office and from his clubs? She was certain there must be some connection, and she was determined to discover what. As she was in the dark she could not help him. She knew instinctively that to ask him would be of little use. He was of the type who preferred to play a lone hand. She was his wife, she owed him something. She had brought unhappiness into his life, and she could do no less than strive to help him. She would want money. She sat down and wrote a little note to her mother. She would take the three hundred pounds which were due from the broker; she even went so far as to hint that if this matter were not promptly settled by her parent she herself would see Mr. Warrell and conclude negotiations. She had read in the morning paper the advertisement of a private detective agency, and for a while she was inclined to engage a man. But what special qualifications did private detectives have that she herself did not possess? It required no special training to use one’s brains and to exercise one’s logical faculties. She had found a mission in life--the solution of this mystery which surrounded her husband like a cloud. She found herself feeling cheerful at the prospect of the work to which she had set her hand. “You should find yourself an occupation,” Gilbert had said in his hesitating fashion. She smiled, and wondered exactly what he would think if he knew the occupation she had found. * * * * The little house in Hoxton which sheltered May and her grandfather was in a respectable little street in the main inhabited by the members of the artisan class. Small and humble as the dwelling was it was furnished in perfect taste. The furniture was old in the more valuable and more attractive sense of the word.