“Well, all I meant was that she seemed so contradictory. Not in what she said, you know, but in the way she looked and—and behaved. It was funny, that feeling I had. At first I thought she wasn’t suffering over her brother’s death, but was just worn out with fear and with trying to—to hide something. And then after that I began to think she was sorry after all, and that all the queer things about her were due to grief. And then after that again I sort of half went back to my first ideas. That’s all. You must think I’m mad, Mr. Gethryn.” “I think,” said Anthony, “that you’re a remarkable young woman. You ought to set up in the street of Baker or Harley, or both.” His tone was more serious than his words; Margaret blushed. “Did they,” asked Anthony, after a pause, “exhibit the wood-rasp at the ’quest?” Hastings nodded. “And a nasty weapon it must have made, too.” “I must get a look at it somehow,” Anthony said. Then added, half-aloud: “Now, why does that mark worry me?” “What’s that?” “Nothing, nothing.” Anthony stretched himself. “Enough for to-day, children. Hastings, there is a lovely lady who wishes to visit your flat, and this to-night. She is the sister of our old friend J. Masterson. I promised she could see him if she went up to town this evening.” “Of course. J. Masterson, by the way, is all right. Temperature much lower; though he’s very weak still, of course. Does nothing but sleep. Doctor saw him again this morning, and says his trouble is really nothing worse than ’flu, aggravated by inattention and complicated nervous thingumitights due probably to shell-shock.” “I see. It’ll be all right about his sister seeing him this evening?” “Of course.” Hastings’s smile was replaced by a blank sort of look. “Er—by the way, if this lady lives down here, perhaps I had—could drive her up now, what?” “I was going to ask whether you would,” Anthony said, after a pause, “but I’ve changed my mind. Don’t look too relieved.” His reasons for this sudden change of plan were mixed; it is certain they were not purely philanthropic. “I gather, then,” said Hastings, “that having left a competent subordinate to take down the dregs of the inquest, the lady Margaret and I may now get back to town.” They descended to the waiting car. Before it began to move, “Miss Warren,” said Anthony, “would you be so kind as to have that report of this morning’s proceedings typed by some one and sent down to me here to-morrow; it’ll be so much better than the public ones.” “I’ll do it myself at once,” said Margaret. The car moved forward. Anthony waved his thanks, turned on his heel and re-entered the inn. 4 Within half an hour he was in Lucia’s drawing-room. Outside the gate was his big red car. Lucia kept him waiting barely two minutes. When she came he noticed with irritation the schoolboyish unruliness of his heart. There was for him some new, subtle quality in her beauty to-day. Something dark and wonderful and rather wild.