Three nights later, Ena left Euston in the sleeping-car for Glasgow, arriving early next morning, and for a couple of days idled away the time in the great hotel, the Central, eagerly awaiting a telegram. At last it came. The porter handed it to her as she returned from a walk. She tore it open, and when she read its contents, she went instantly pale. The message was disconcerting, for instead of giving information regarding the movements of the woman she had been impersonating, it read: "_Remain in Glasgow. Am leaving to-night. Will be with you in morning. Urgent_.—BERNARD." What could have happened? A hitch had apparently occurred in the arrangements, which had been so thoroughly discussed and every detail considered. It was then six o’clock in the evening. Boyne could not be there until eight o’clock on the following morning. She glanced bewildered around the busy hall of the hotel, where men and women with piles of luggage were constantly arriving and departing. "Why is he not more explicit?" she asked herself in apprehension. What could have happened? she wondered. For yet another fourteen hours she must remain in suspense. Suddenly, however, she recollected that she could telephone to Lilla, and she put through a call without delay. Half an hour later she spoke to her friend over the wire, inquiring the reason of Boyne’s journey north. "My dear, I’m sorry," replied Lilla in her high-pitched voice, "but I really cannot tell you over the ’phone. It is some very important business he wants to see you about." "But am I not to go to Ardlui?" asked Ena. "I don’t know. Bernie wants to see you without delay—that’s all." "But has anything happened?" she demanded eagerly. "Yes—something—but I can’t tell you now. Bernie will explain. He’ll be with you in Glasgow early to-morrow morning." "Is it anything very serious?" "_I think it may be—very!_" was Lilla’s reply; and at that moment the operator cut off communication with London, the six minutes allowed having expired. *CHAPTER V* *CONTAINS A NOTE OF ALARM* Ena Pollen was on the platform when the dusty night express from London ran slowly into the Caledonian Station, at Glasgow. Bernard Boyne, erect and smartly-dressed, stepped out quickly from the sleeping-car, to be greeted by her almost immediately. "What’s happened?" she demanded anxiously beneath her breath. "I can’t tell you here, Ena. Wait till we’re in the hotel," he replied. She saw by his countenance that something was amiss. Together they walked from the platform into the hotel, and having ascended in the lift to her private sitting-room, the man flung himself into a chair, and said: "A very perilous situation has arisen regarding the Martin affair!" "The Martin affair!" she gasped, instantly pale to the lips. "I always feared it. That girl, Céline Tènot, had some suspicion, I believe."