Instantly Marigold drew her chair away from the table and bent down to see where they were. At that moment Bernard Boyne executed a clever trick which he had done before. He flicked into the girl’s hot soup a piece of very soft gelatine that had been extracted only half an hour before from one of those mysterious blue glass tubes he had obtained from the idiot-scientist hiding in Harpur Street. The piece of gelatine fell into the soup unnoticed by the girl, whose eagerness was centred upon the picking up of the lost coins, and the other diners only glanced across for a second, and did not notice the dropping of that fatal dose. "Don’t bother," he said airily next moment. "The waiter will find it. They are really only coppers. I was foolish to put my handkerchief there. Please don’t bother. Your soup will be cold." And, thus reassured, the girl drank her soup with her spoon and greatly enjoyed it—for it was excellent. Boyne watched her with complete satisfaction and confidence. The other courses were served: fillets of sole, and a chicken _en casserole_, with mushrooms, in true Continental style. Then a cup in which were fruit, ice-cream, and champagne, and black coffee afterwards. The dinner Marigold agreed was excellent. Boyne smoked cigarettes and chatted merrily the whole time, until at last he paid the bill and walked back with her. They shook hands, and she thanked him heartily. Then they parted, Boyne promising to see old Mrs. Felmore and pay her the amount he suggested. As he strode along down the Haymarket, however, on his way back to Pont Street, he laughed aloud and muttered to himself: "I don’t think we shall be troubled with you, young lady, after a few more days!" *CHAPTER XXVII* *"THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW"* Three days passed. Marigold, on rising in the morning of the third day, felt hot and feverish. Her sister had suggested that she should telephone to the bank excusing herself. "I think I’ve got a chill," Marigold remarked. "I felt rather queer yesterday." "Then stay at home, dear." "I can’t," the girl declared as she put on her hat. "We’re so awfully busy just now. Miss Meldrum and Miss Page are both away with influenza. I’m bound to go." So she went, but feeling very ill. At the bank one or two of the girls remarked how unwell she looked, and as the morning wore on the pains in her head became worse. She could eat no lunch, and at two o’clock she was compelled to return home to Wimbledon. She went straight to bed, but her friends troubled little, for it was evident that she was run down by the eternal anxiety over Gerald’s absence, and that she had caught a severe cold. Next morning she seemed worse, therefore her sister went for Doctor Thurlow, who lived in Kenilworth Avenue; but he was so busy that it was not possible for him to put in an appearance until nearly seven o’clock that evening.