The enclosed was a telegram. The following were its brief contents:-- "Send me my dressing-case immediately by a private messenger.--Wilfred Tollemache." An address was given in full beneath:-- "The Cedars, 110, Harvey Road, Balham." I knew that Miss Sinclair was looking over my shoulder as I read. I turned and faced her. Her eyes were blazing with a curious mixture of joy, excitement, and fear. "Let us go to him," she exclaimed; "let us go to him at once. Let us take him the dressing-case." I folded up the telegram and put it into my pocket. Then I crossed the room and rang the bell. When my servant appeared, I gave him the following message:-- "Tell the messenger from Mercer's," I said, "that I will be round immediately, and tell him to ask the manager to do nothing until I come." My servant withdrew and Miss Sinclair moved impatiently towards the door. "Let us go," she said: "there is not a moment to lose. Let us take the dressing-case ourselves." "I will take it," I replied; "you must not come." "Why?" she asked, keen remonstrance in her tone. "Because I can do better without you," I replied, firmly. "I do not believe it," she answered. "I cannot allow you to come with me," I said. "You must accept this decision as final. You have had patience for three years; exercise it a little longer, and--God knows, perhaps you may be rewarded. Anyhow, you must trust me to do the best I can for Tollemache. Go back to the Métrôpole. I will let you know as soon as I have any news. You will, I am sure, trust me?" "Oh, fully," she replied, tears suddenly filling her lovely eyes. "But remember that I love him--I love him with a very deep love." There was something noble in the way she made this emphatic statement. I took her hand and led her from the room. A moment later she had left me, and I was hurrying on foot to Mercer's Hotel. The manager was waiting for me in the hall. He had the dressing-case in his hand. "Shall I send this by a commissionaire?" he asked. "No," I replied, "I should prefer to take it myself. Tell the porter to call a hansom for me immediately." The man looked immensely relieved. "That is good of you, doctor," he said; "the fact is, I don't like the sound of that address." "Nor do I," I replied. "Do you know, Dr. Halifax, that the young lady--Miss Sinclair, she called herself--came here again this morning?" "I have just seen her," I answered. The hall porter now came to tell me that the hansom was at the door. A moment later I was driving to Balham, the dressing-case on my knee. [Illustration: "A MOMENT LATER I WAS DRIVING TO BALHAM."] From Mercer's Hotel to this suburb is a distance of several miles, but fortunately the horse was fresh and we got over the ground quickly. As I drove along my meditations were full of strange apprehensions.