A deadly faintness came over Beatrice. Torn and distracted as she had been of late, this last discovery was almost too much for her. She could only stand there with her hand upon her heart to still its passionate beating. Yes, it was her father, beyond the shadow of a doubt. How he got there Beatrice could not possibly have told. He was looking much the same as when Beatrice had seen him last, save that his clothes were not so neat and he had not been shaved for some days. He seemed quite resigned to the situation although his expression was cross and irritable. He motioned to Beatrice to shut the door. "Why don't you close the door?" he demanded. "Suppose anybody saw me?" Beatrice was getting back some of her self-possession by this time. She closed the door and then took her seat on the edge of her father's bed. "Why should you not be seen?" she asked. "What difference can it possibly make? We have all been looking for you everywhere. Where have you been?" "I'm not quite sure," was the strange reply. "But you seem to have lost sight of my peculiar situation, Beatrice. My head is a little strange and confused, but I dare say it will come right presently. What happened to me on the night of the dinner party?" "I did not see that anything happened," Beatrice said. "I suppose you went to bed in the ordinary way. I did not see that there was anything----" "You didn't notice that I had too much wine with my dinner?" Beatrice was fain to admit that she had not noticed anything of the kind. She wondered how much her father really knew as to what had happened. "There has been a great deal of fuss," Sir Charles said. He proceeded to dress himself in certain old clothes and took up a beard and spectacles from the dressing table. Beatrice watched him with a growing feeling that he had taken leave of his senses. "Why are you going to use those things?" she asked. "Because it is absolutely necessary," Sir Charles said irritably. "I came here in this disguise to pick out certain things that I needed. A kind friend furnished this disguise, and also money for me to get away." "But why do you want to get away?" Beatrice asked, more puzzled than ever. "My dear child, your memory must be sadly defective," Sir Charles said sharply. "You seem to forget that I am in great difficulties. Richford was going to put me right, but Richford is dead. It is just my luck." "Who told you that?" Beatrice asked. "Why it was only tonight----" "My dear, there was a gentleman outside the hotel who told somebody else. Richford was arrested at the house of a friend of mine; I saw the thing done. Then I realized that my position was desperate. You see I have been stopping at Wandsworth with a friend for the last two or three days." Beatrice began to understand a little. The cunning nature of the plot was beginning to unfold itself before her. "The name of that friend is Mr. Carl Sartoris, I suppose?" Beatrice asked.