At noon I walked up to the Hall again, wondering if my love would show herself. I longed to get up to London and make inquiries at that pawnbroker's in the Westminster Bridge Road, as well as to call at the address she had given me in Chelsea. As she had said, only myself stood between her and death. The situation all-round was one of great peril, and I had, at all costs, to save her. As I entered and crossed the hall, Slater, the old butler, approached, saying-- "His lordship would like to see you, sir. He's in the library." So I turned and walked up the corridor of the east wing to that fine long old room with its thousands of rare volumes that had been the chief delight of the white-headed old peer who had spent the evening of his days in study. "I say, Woodhouse!" cried the young Earl, springing from his chair as I entered, "what does this murder in the park last night mean?" "It's a profound mystery," I replied. "The murdered man has not yet been identified." "I know, I know," he said. "I went down to the inn with Pink this morning and saw him. And, do you know, he looks suspiciously like a fellow who followed me about in town several times last season." "That's strange!" I exclaimed, much interested. "Yes, it is. I can't make it out at all. There's a mystery somewhere--a confounded mystery." And the young Earl thrust his hands deeply into his trousers pockets as he seated himself on the arm of a chair. Tall, dark, good-looking, and a good all-round athlete, he was about thirty, the very picture of the well-bred Englishman. A few years in the Army had set him up and given him a soldierly bearing, while his face and hands, tanned as they were, showed his fondness for out-door sports. He kept up the Stanchester hounds, of which he was master, to that high degree of efficiency which rendered them one of the most popular packs in the country; he was an excellent polo player, a splendid shot, and a thorough all-round sportsman. In his well-worn grey flannels, and with a straw hat stuck jauntily on his head, he presented the picture of healthy manhood, wealthy almost beyond the dreams of avarice, a careless, easy-going, good-humoured man-of-the-world, whose leniency to his tenants was proverbial, and whose good-nature gave him wide popularity in Society, both in London and out of it.