"Give me your arm, Mr. Lemby," said Lady Wyke, languidly graceful, and showing nothing of the vicious cat who had fought with the man's daughter. "I'm sure you must be hungry." "I live on love," said the pirate, gruffly, and, as he thought, gallantly. "You must be hungry, then, as there is nothing for you to eat of that nature." Lemby turned aside the arrow with a laugh, and shortly found himself seated at a beautifully-decorated table, to eat a delicately-cooked dinner. He did full justice to the admirable dishes and to the very excellent wine, while Lady Wyke ate little and amused him with desultory conversation. All the time she was watching him, wondering why he had called and what he was trying to do. So far she could not fathom his motives; but when champagne had loosened his tongue and tobacco had soothed his nerves--if he had any--she hoped to learn all she desired to learn. But during dinner she purposely kept off the subject of the murder, and it was only when they returned to the scented drawing-room that she spoke. Then the pirate, in a comfortable armchair, sipped his coffee and smoked an excellent cigar, while his hostess trifled with a cigarette and began to talk sense for the first time during the evening. "Well, Mr. Lemby," she said, resolutely, "let us get to business." "What business?" asked the buccaneer, wilfully dense. "That about which we correspond," said Lady Wyke, promptly. "You said that you would assist me to learn who murdered my husband so I presume you have come to tell me something about your discoveries." "I haven't made any you don't know anything about," said Lemby, incoherently. "What do I know?" "You dashed well know that Craver was the man who sloped on the postman's bike on that night. You tried to rope him into the business, hut failed." "For the time being I have failed, Mr. Lemby; but I may rope him in, as you put it, later. Well, and what else do I know?" "You know that Mrs. Vence is a liar." "Oh, do I?" Lady Wyke raised her eyebrows. "Yes. Claudia saw Mrs. Vence the other day--yesterday, in fact, and she said----" "Mrs. Vence or Claudia? Do be accurate." "The old woman," growled Lemby, who did not like to be interrupted. "She said as how I came down the stairs with my knife and murdered Wyke." "Well, the knife with which the crime was committed is yours, you know." "Who says so? How do you know?" "Mrs. Vence says so. She told me." "Then she's a liar." Lady Wyke shrugged her shoulders. "You'll have to make a stronger defence than that Mr. Lemby. We may as well be plain with one another. I have asked Mrs. Vence to come down here, and she will be in this house on Friday evening. I shan't be here to receive her, unfortunately, as I have to go to London to get that will of mine destroyed." "What will?" "One I made in favour of Mr. Craver." "He told me," nodded Lemby. "Silly business, seeing that a marriage makes it so much waste paper."