Much of their conversation concerned Gerald Durrant. The abrupt manner of his departure was, of course, a complete mystery, but the old woman inwardly had her doubts. What more likely than that Durrant, like so many other young men, had grown suddenly tired of Marigold and had "faded out," sending those reassuring telegrams in order to lighten the blow which he knew the poor girl would receive? This, indeed, was her fixed opinion, though naturally she said nothing of it to her niece. "Auntie," said the girl presently, "I can’t help feeling that something serious has happened to Gerald. I seem to become more apprehensive day by day, until I can’t work—I can only sit and think—and think!" "No, no, dearie," exclaimed the old woman cheerfully. "You mustn’t let it get on your nerves. Those telegrams he sent told you not to worry. And I wouldn’t—if I were you! It will all come right in the end." "Ah!" sighed the girl. "Will it?—that is the question. Time is going by, and we hear nothing." "He’s probably in Paris—or somewhere—on some confidential business for his firm." "But his firm know nothing of his whereabouts." "Well, if he had gone on some secret business they would naturally profess ignorance," the woman pointed out. "Do you know, I’m half inclined to go to the police and consult them," Marigold said. "Ah! That’s not a bad idea!" her aunt replied. "Go to the head police-station just outside the Broadway, and ask their opinion. They would take his description and advise you what to do, no doubt. I’d go to-morrow." "I shan’t have time to-morrow," the girl said. "I’ll go round now. It’s only nine o’clock." And, putting on her hat and coat, she went along to the headquarters of the T Division of Metropolitan Police. But as she passed along the streets a dark figure went noiselessly behind her—the sinister figure of Bernard Boyne. She was going in the direction of the Underground Railway station, hence he concluded that she was on her way home. He, however, received a rude and sudden shock when he saw her halt beneath the blue lamp, and ascend the steps of the police-station. "Phew!" he gasped aloud. "Whatever is she there for? To give evidence against me—to put the police upon my track! By Jove! There’s no time to lose. It must be done to-night!" Next instant he turned, and going to the railway station he obtained a leather handbag from the cloak-room, and hastened with it back to his house. He wore rubber heels to his shoes, and moved swiftly and almost noiselessly. In the darkness he ascended the steps, and opened the front door with his key. There was no light in the hall, and he could see through the Venetian blind of the kitchen that Mrs. Felmore was below.