"Yes, dearest," he answered. "I know all about it. I’ve seen the ruin, and I’ve talked to your aunt. You both had narrow escapes!" "Mr. Boyne—set—it—on—fire—Gerald," she said weakly, "so as to get rid of what was in that upstairs room!" "Without a doubt." "I—I tried to learn more about it. That’s—well, that’s why I dined with Mr. Boyne." "You dined with him?" echoed her lover. "Yes—in order to try and learn something more. Did we not agree to keep a watchful eye upon him?" "We did. But I fell into a cunningly devised trap on the night I disappeared," he said. "I will describe it to you later. Well, when you dined with the fellow, did you discover why he spends his evenings among those smart people in the West End?" "No, Gerald; but I came to the conclusion that he is a very remarkable crook." "Of that I’m certain, dear. We’ve both had proof of it. He knew we were watching him, and his intention, no doubt, was to get rid of both of us." "Yes, I quite agree," replied the girl faintly, yet smiling into his face. Then she added: "Do you know, Gerald, that—that ever since I dined with Mr. Boyne I haven’t been the same. I felt ill next morning, and gradually the illness increased, until I had to go to bed and the doctor came to see me." Gerald Durrant knit his brows. "By Gad!" he gasped. "I—I never thought of that! He invited you to dinner—eh?" In reply to his question, Marigold described the chance meeting near the bank and the invitation that followed. "Ah!" he exclaimed, after a pause. "He had got rid of me, and intended that you should die—truly a most diabolical plot! I see it all! But we will be even with him yet, darling—never fear!" Assuring the girl that he would return very soon, Gerald Durrant left the house determined to take direct action. His failure to convince the police at Hammersmith that "Busy" Boyne, the pious insurance agent, was a master-criminal, had irritated and angered him. Probably if he went direct to Scotland Yard and re-told the story, laying stress upon the plots against Marigold and himself, they would hear him and make some investigation. The mystery of that upstairs room and its weird occupant was ever uppermost in his mind. And now that it was destroyed, it made it plainer than ever that there had been some guilty secret hidden there. He went to Charing Cross, and presently entered the headquarters of the Criminal Investigation Department at Scotland Yard, where he was courteously received by Detective-Inspector Shaw in one of the cold, bare, official waiting-rooms. The inspector, a short, stout, brusque man, listened very patiently to the strange story related to him, and once or twice jotted down notes. But his countenance was imperturbable, and Gerald’s heart had already sunk within him, for he saw that he was quite unimpressed. At last Shaw stirred himself, and said: