I took up a Bradshaw, and saw that if I left Charing Cross by the boat train at 2:20 I might, by good chance, catch the night mail for Italy by the Mont Cenis from the Gare de Lyon. I could only do it if we ran into the Gare du Nord in time. But from experience I knew that the afternoon service to Paris was pretty punctual, and one usually arrived in the French capital about 9:20. Then, by the aid of a taxi-cab, I could get across to the Lyons station in time. So I decided to make the attempt. I had been in Italy several times when a youth, and knew Italian fairly well. My father, before the smash in his fortunes, had rented a villa for several years up at Vallombrosa, in the chestnut-clad mountains above Florence. "May I come with you, Harry?" pleaded my sister-in-law. "If Mabel is in any danger it is only right that you should take me to her." I knew how devoted the girl was to her sister. A year ago she had come to us from Caen, where she had been at school, and among the languages in which she was proficient was Italian. I hardly cared, in the circumstances, to leave her alone; therefore, although a big hole must be made in my slender bank account, I resolved to take a second ticket for her. When I announced my decision her dark eyes sparkled with delight, and she clapped her hands. "You are a real good brother, Harry!" she cried. "I don't want any breakfast. I'll go and begin to pack at once. I've never been in Italy, you know." I told her that in the circumstances of the rush we must make across Paris I could only allow her hand-luggage, and she sped away upstairs to put on her frock and to commence placing her necessaries together. Afterwards, greatly agitated and full of dark apprehension, I got on, by telephone, to the Wagon-Lit office in Pall Mall, and reserved berths for us both on the Rome express from Paris as far as Pisa, where I knew we would be compelled to change. Then I addressed a long telegram to Mabel at the Hotel Grande Bretagne, on the Lung' Arno, at Florence, explaining that she was the victim of a bogus message, but that we were rejoining her at once, in order to bring her home. I judged that she must already have arrived in Florence, but unfortunately there would be no time to receive a reply ere we left London. Having despatched the message, I went round to the garage, and, telling Pelham of my sudden call abroad, gave him certain instructions, drew a cheque for wages, and otherwise left things in order. Then I called upon Miss Kirk, but she denied all knowledge of her brother's whereabouts. The _Times_, which I had just bought in the High Road, Chiswick, contained no advertised message from him. Nor did I expect any. My intention now was one of bitter retaliation. I had been befooled by the man who I had proved held secret knowledge of the mode of the poor Professor's tragic end. By this message to my wife someone had touched my honour, and I intended that he should dearly pay for it.