Lady Constance Dex had been the recipient of many gifts from Mr. Farrington and his friends. There had been a period when Farrington could not do enough for her, and had showered upon her every mark of his esteem, and Moor Cottage had perhaps been the most magnificent of these presents. Here she could find seclusion, and in the pretty oak-panelled rooms reconstruct those happy days which Great Bradley had at one time offered to her. "It is a little lonely," she smiled at her brother. She had a good-natured contempt for his opinion. He was a large, lethargic man, who had commonplace views on all subjects. "But really you know, Jerry, I am quite a capable person, and Brown will be near by, in case of necessity." He nodded, and addressed himself again to the _Times_, the perusal of which she had interrupted. "I have nothing more to say," he said from behind his newspaper. By and by he put it down. "Who is this Mr. Smith?" he asked, suddenly. "Mr. Smith?" she said, with interest. "Which Mr. Smith are you referring to?" "I think he is a detective person," said the Reverend Jeremiah Bangley; "he has honoured us with a great number of visits lately." "You mean----?" "I mean Great Bradley," he explained. "Do you think there is anything wrong at the Secret House?" "What could there be wrong," she asked, "that has not been wrong for the last ten or twenty years?" He shrugged his massive shoulders. "I have never quite approved of the Secret House," he said, unnecessarily. She finished her hurried breakfast and rose. "You have never approved of anything, Jerry," she said, tapping him on the shoulder as she passed. She looked through the window; the victoria she had ordered was waiting at the door, with the imperturbable Brown sitting on the box. "I shall be back to lunch," she said. Looking through a window he saw her mount into the carriage carrying a portfolio. In that letter case, although he did not know it, were the letters and diaries which Dr. Goldworthy had brought from the Congo. In the seclusion of Moor Cottage she found the atmosphere to understand the words, written now in fire upon her very soul, and to plan her future. There was no servant at Moor Cottage. She was in the habit of sending one of her own domestic staff after her visit to make it tidy for her future reception. She let herself in through the little door placed under the green-covered porch. "You can unharness the horse; I shall be here two hours," she said to the waiting Brown.