No inkling! I almost smiled as the thought occurred to me, and was quickly followed by the thought of the sensation the affair would create when the newspapers came to hear of what had happened, and began to "spread themselves" upon the subject, as they certainly would do very soon. My companion's voice dispelled my wandering reflections. "Where did you see the portrait of this other Smithson?" he asked, looking at me oddly. "In a friend's house." "Was it at Houghton Park?" "In point of fact, it was." His eyes seemed to read my thoughts, and I didn't like it. He was silent for some moments. Then suddenly he rose. "Well, Mr. Ashton," he said quite genially, as he extended his hand, "I am glad that we have met, and I trust we shall meet again. `In point of fact,' to use your own phrase, we shall, and very soon. Until then-- good-bye. I have enjoyed our little conversation. It has been so--what shall I say--informal, and it was so unexpected. I did not expect to meet you to-night, I can assure you." He was gone, leaving me in a not wholly pleasant frame of mind. The man puzzled me. Did I like him, or did I not? His personality attracted me, had done so from the moment I had set eyes on him framed in the doorway, but I was bound to admit that some of his observations had annoyed me. In particular, that remark: "We shall meet again, and very soon;" also his last words: "I did not expect to meet you to-night, I can assure you," caused me some uneasiness in the face of all that had happened. Indeed all through dinner his remarks had somehow seemed to bear some hidden meaning. CHAPTER FOUR. FURTHER MYSTERY. I had to go up to London that night. My lawyers had written some days previously that they must see me personally at the earliest possible moment on some matter to do with my investments, which they controlled entirely, and the letter had been left lying at my flat in King Street before being forwarded. And as the Oakham police had impressed upon me that my presence would be needed in Oakham within the next day or two, I had decided to run up to London, see my lawyers and get my interview with them over, and then return to Rutland as soon as possible. Again and again, as the night express tore through the darkness towards St. Pancras, Vera's fair face and appealing eyes floated like a vision into my thoughts. I must see her again, at once--but how could I find her, and where? Would the police try to find her, and her father and mother? But why should they? After all, perhaps Sir Charles and Lady Thorold's flight from Houghton did not mean that they intended to conceal themselves. What reason could they have for concealment?