They passed up a long avenue of elms, going slower and slower. Selwyn tapped her on the shoulder and dropped off the rack, and, recognising his wisdom, she followed, darting into the shadow of an elm only just in time, for at that moment the car stopped and the voice of Lady Moron sent a shiver down the back of her son. “Go to the west entrance: you’ll find nobody there. What were you doing in Somerset, Chesney?” “I will tell you later,” he said shortly. The car passed on and the two watchers saw the tall woman walking slowly in its wake. How had she known they were coming? And then Lizzy remembered the car stopping at the telephone box on the side of the road. “Queer old crib, eh?” Moron was whispering. “See that bump in the roof? That’s the alarm bell--works from the music-room… in case of fire and all that sort of thing.” They waited till Lady Moron had disappeared from sight, then they followed cautiously. The west entrance was reached through a glass-covered porch, and the door was closed when they came up to it. Moron smiled benignly at the girl, and took a small object from his pocket. “Pass-key,” he whispered, so loudly that he would have been heard if there had been a listener. Inserting the key, he turned it and signalled the girl to follow. Before them stretched a vista of red-carpeted corridor; a light burnt in a ceiling lamp at the farther end. Moron crept along with extravagant caution, and he was half-way up the passage when he stopped and raised a warning finger, pointing energetically to a door before he beckoned her past it. A little farther along was a broad marble staircase. Up this he went, with Lizzy, feeling like a conspirator, at his heels. They must have presented a terrifying sight. White from head to foot, their faces were masks of dust. Lizzy’s crumpled hat hung drunkenly over one ear. At the top of the stairs was another corridor, with the same meagre illumination. He drew her head to his. “That is the gallery of the music-room!” He indicated a small door. “For heaven’s sake don’t make a row,” he implored her, and opened the door an inch at a time. The door itself was shadowed by the broad musicians’ balcony from the light in the room below. They heard voices talking as they came in, and, keeping flat to the wall, they edged forward until it was dangerous to go any farther. Then Selwyn gave a start that nearly betrayed their presence. Turning, he communicated what he had seen. “She’s not there--Miss Reddle, I mean. It’s an elderly lady with white hair.” “So you have seen your daughter, Mrs. Pinder?” “Yes, madam, I have seen Lois.” Lois! Lizzy clapped her hand over her mouth. Lois Reddle’s mother, and her name was Pinder! “A very beautiful girl,” said Lady Moron suavely. “A dear, sweet girl! I am very proud, whatever happens to me.” “What do you think will happen to you?” “I don’t know, but I am prepared for anything now.”