"No," he laughed. "Don’t let us seek trouble—for Heaven’s sake. At present there is not the slightest danger. Of that I feel confident. Let us go forward. When shall you go up to London?" "To-morrow. I go to visit my dear friend, Mrs. Pollen—as I have told you." He laughed. "So really you are going on a visit to yourself—eh? Excellent! Really you are unique, Ena!" "Well—it is the only way, and it will work well." Then the strange pair, who were upon such intimate terms, rose and strolled leisurely side by side back towards the opposite end of the promenade, chatting merrily the while. When approaching the Beach Hotel they halted, and the woman bade the man good-bye. Afterwards he sank upon a seat in one of the shelters, while she walked on and entered the hotel. Not until half an hour later, after he had taken a stroll along to the end of the pier, where the band was still playing, did he return to the hotel. Mrs. Morrison was at the moment sitting in the lounge chatting with two men visitors. The eyes of the pair met as he passed, but neither gave any sign of recognition. To those in the lounge the two were absolutely strangers to each other. Little did the other visitors dream of the dastardly, even demoniacal, plot that was being so skilfully woven in their midst. Next afternoon Bernard Boyne stepped from out of the Holyhead express upon Euston platform and drove in a taxi to Pont Street, where he was greeted warmly by his wife, who had been informed of his advent by telegram from Chester. "Well?" she asked, when the door of the luxurious drawing-room was closed and they were alone. "And how did you find Ena?" "She’s splendid! All goes well," was his enthusiastic reply. "She’s got hold of a young Manchester solicitor who is carrying the policy through all right. He happens to be an agent of the Universal. She’s on her way back to London now. I wasn’t seen with her in the hotel, of course." "When is she coming here?" "To-night at nine. She wants to see you." "I think the less she sees of me just now the better, don’t you, Bernie?" "I quite agree. We don’t want anyone to recognise you as friends when the time comes," replied Boyne. "As soon as she gets passed by the doctors—both of them unknown to any of us—which is a blessing—she’ll have to go up to Scotland." "To New Galloway again?" "No. To Ardlui, that pretty little village at the head of Loch Lomond. The inquiries I have been making of the servants at Carsphairn show that it is the lady’s intention to go with her maid to Ardlui for a fortnight, and thence to Edinburgh for another fortnight." "Really, Bernie, you are wonderful in the way you pry into people’s intentions." "Only by knowing the habits and intentions of our friends can we hope to be successful," was his reply, as he flung himself back among the silken cushions of the couch and lazily lit a cigarette. "So Ena will have to go to Scotland again?"