“I knew something of a man who writes for that newspaper--the _Beacon_. I knew his father very well.” “Yes.” The Vicomte glanced at her. “Christian Vellacott,” he said. “We know him also,” she answered, moving towards the bell. He made a step forward as if about to offer to ring the bell for her, but she was too quick. When the butler entered the room, Hilda reminded him of some small omission in setting out the breakfast-table. The item required was in the room, and the man set it upon the table with some decision and a slightly aggrieved cast of countenance. The Vicomte d'Audierne raised his eyes, and then he looked very grave. He was a singular man in many ways, but those who worked with him were aware of one peculiarity which by its prominence cast others into the shade. He possessed a very useful gift rarely given to men--the gift of intuition. It was dangerous to _think_ when the eyes of the Vicomte d'Audierne were upon one's face. He had a knack of knowing one's thoughts before they were even formulated. He looked grave--almost distressed--on this occasion, because he knew something of which Hilda herself was ignorant. He knew that she was engaged to be married to one man while she loved another. CHAPTER XVIII AN EMPTY NEST In the middle of breakfast a card was handed to Sidney Carew. He glanced at it, nodded his head as a signal to the servant that he need not wait, and slipped the card into his pocket. Mr. Bodery and the Vicomte d'Audierne were watching him. Presently he rose from the table and left the room. Mrs. Carew became suddenly lively, and the meal went on unconcernedly. It was not long before Sidney came back. “Do you want,” he said to his mother, “some tickets for a concert at Brayport on the 4th of next month?” “What sort of a concert?” Sidney consulted the tickets. “In aid,” he read, “of an orphanage--the Police Orphanage.” “We always take six tickets,” put in Miss Molly, and her mother began to seek her pocket. “Mr. Bodery,” said Sidney, at this moment, “you have nothing to eat. Let me cut you some ham.” He moved towards the sideboard, but Mr. Bodery rose from his seat. “I prefer to carve it myself,” he replied, proceeding to do so. Sidney held the plate. They were quite close together, and Hilda was talking persistently and gaily to the Vicomte d'Audierne. “The London police are here already,” whispered Sidney; “shall I say anything about Vellacott?” “No,” replied Mr. Bodery, after a moment's reflection. “I am going to ride over to Porton Abbey with them now.” “Right,” replied the editor, returning to the table with his plate. Sidney left the room again, and the Vicomte d'Audierne detected the quick, anxious glance directed by Hilda at his retreating form. A few minutes later young Carew rode away from the house in company with two men, while a fourth horseman followed closely.