“It’s one of the stately homes of England, my dear James. A place where Kings and Queens go for weekends, and diplomatists forgather and diplome.” “That’s one of the reasons why I’m so glad that you’re going to England instead of me. You know all these things,” said Jimmy simply. “A josser like myself from the backwoods of Canada would be making all sorts of bloomers. But some one like you who’s been to Eton and Harrow——” “Only one of them,” said Anthony modestly. “Will be able to carry it through. Why didn’t I send them to her, you say? Well, it seemed to me dangerous. From what I could make out, she seemed to have a jealous husband. Suppose he opened the letter by mistake. Where would the poor dame be then? Or she might be dead—the letters looked as though they’d been written some time. As I figured it out, the only thing was for some one to take them to England and put them into her own hands.” Anthony threw away his cigarette, and coming across to his friend clapped him affectionately on the back. “You’re a real knight-errant, Jimmy,” he said. “And the backwoods of Canada should be proud of you. I shan’t do the job half as prettily as you would.” “You’ll take it on then?” “Of course.” McGrath rose, and going across to a drawer took out a bundle of letters and threw them on the table. “Here you are. You’d better have a look at them.” “Is it necessary? On the whole, I’d rather not.” “Well, from what you say about this Chimneys place, she may have been staying there only. We’d better look through the letters and see if there’s any clue as to where she really hangs out.” “I suppose you’re right.” They went through the letters carefully, but without finding what they had hoped to find. Anthony gathered them up again thoughtfully. “Poor little devil,” he remarked. “She was scared stiff.” Jimmy nodded. “Do you think you’ll be able to find her all right?” he asked anxiously. “I won’t leave England till I have. You’re very concerned about this unknown lady, James?” Jimmy ran his finger thoughtfully over the signature. “It’s a pretty name,” he said apologetically. “_Virginia Revel._” 3 Anxiety in High Places “Quite so, my dear fellow, quite so,” said Lord Caterham. He had used the same words three times already, each time in the hope that they would end the interview and permit him to escape. He disliked very much being forced to stand on the steps of the exclusive London club to which he belonged and listen to the interminable eloquence of the Hon. George Lomax. Clement Edward Alistair Brent, ninth Marquis of Caterham, was a small gentleman, shabbily dressed, and entirely unlike the popular conception of a Marquis. He had faded blue eyes, a thin melancholy nose, and a vague but courteous manner.