In a few moments Gwen Raeburn, my wife's sister, a young, pretty, dark girl of seventeen, who wore a big black bow in her hair, came out of her room wrapped in a blue kimono. "Why, Harry!" she cried. "What's the matter? I thought Mabel had gone to join you." "I've just come down from Glasgow, where I've been on business," I explained. "Where is Mabel?" "I don't know, except that I saw her off from Victoria at eleven the day before yesterday." "But why has she gone?" "To meet you," replied the girl. "The morning before last, at a few minutes past eight, she received a telegram signed by you, urging her to meet you at the Hotel Grande Bretagne in Florence at the earliest possible moment. Therefore she obeyed it at once, and left by the eleven o'clock train. It was a terrible rush to get her off, I can tell you. But haven't you been in Florence?" "No, I've been in Scotland," I repeated. "Did you read the telegram she received?" "Yes; it was very brief, but to the point. Mabel was annoyed that you had not told her the reason you had gone abroad without explanation. She feared that, in view of your preoccupied manner of late, something disastrous had happened to you. That's why she left so hurriedly. I wanted to go with her, but she wouldn't allow me." "I wish you had gone, Gwen," I said. "There's some plot here--some deep and treacherous conspiracy." "Why, what has happened?" "A lot has happened," I said. "You shall know it all later on. At present I haven't time to explain. I suppose the telegram isn't left about anywhere?" "Mabel took it with her." "You didn't notice whence it had been despatched?" I asked. "From Turin. We concluded that you had halted there, on your way from Paris." I was silent. What plot had those blackguards formed against me and mine! Why had my dear wife Mabel been decoyed out to Italy by them? I grew apprehensive and furious. My sister-in-law descended with me to the dining-room. She saw my agitation, and after the first surprise had worn off tried to calm me. "There's a perfectly feasible explanation, I'm sure, Harry," she said. "Perhaps it is some practical joke being played upon you and Mabel by your friends. They want you out in the South for a week or two to escape from the cold and wet of the London spring. I wouldn't worry, if I were you." "Ah, Gwen!" I sighed. "You are unaware of all the grim circumstances," I said. "There's a serious conspiracy here, I'm convinced. The hand of a secret enemy has been lifted against me." Had that crafty servant at Sussex Place dispatched the false message, I wondered? Or was it Kirk himself? And if so, with what motive? Was Mabel, my beloved and devoted wife, to fall helplessly into their unscrupulous hands? My blood rose within me when I reflected how innocently I had walked into the trap which my mysterious neighbour had prepared for me.