"Yes," Pamela replied softly. "The dark house, where the truants lived and where"--she looked at Warrisden and smiled with a great friendliness--"where the new road began. For it was there really. It's from the steps of the dark house, not from the three poplars that the new road runs out." "Yes, that is true," said Warrisden. And again both were silent. Mr. Mudge broke in upon the silence. "I have no doubt that the truants lived there, and that the new road begins at the foot of the steps," he said plaintively; "but neither statement adds materially to my knowledge." Pamela and Warrisden turned to him and laughed. It was true that they had for a moment forgotten Mr. Mudge. The memory of the star-lit night, in last July, when from this balcony they had watched the truants slip down the steps and furtively call a cab, was busy in their thoughts. From that night their alliance had dated, although no suspicion of it had crossed their minds. It seemed strange to them now that there had been no premonition. "Well, who lives there?" asked Mudge. But even now he received no answer; for Warrisden suddenly exclaimed in a low, startled voice-- "Look!" and with an instinctive movement he drew back into the room. A man was standing in the road looking up at the windows of the dark house. His face could not be seen under the shadow of his hat. Pamela peered forward. "Do you think it's he?" she asked in a whisper. "I am not sure," replied Warrisden. "Oh, I hope so! I hope so!" "I am not sure. Wait! Wait and look!" said Warrisden. In a few moments the man moved. He crossed the road and stepped on to the pavement. Again he stopped, again he looked up to the house; then he walked slowly on. But he walked northwards, that is, towards the watchers at the window. "There's a lamp-post," said Warrisden; "he will come within the light of it. We shall know." And the next moment the light fell white and clear upon Tony Stretton's face. "He has come back," exclaimed Pamela, joyfully. "Who?" asked Mr. Mudge; "who has come back?" This time he was answered. "Why, Tony Stretton, of course," said Pamela, impatiently. She was hardly aware of Mr. Mudge, even while she answered him; she was too intent upon Tony Stretton in the square below. She did not therefore notice that Mudge was startled by her reply. She did not remark the anxiety in his voice as he went on-- "And that is Stretton's house?" "Yes." "And his wife, Lady Stretton, is she in London? Is she there--now?" Mr. Mudge spoke with an excitement of manner which at any other time must have caused surprise. It passed now unremarked; for Warrisden, too, had his preoccupation. He was neither overjoyed, like Pamela, nor troubled, like Mr. Mudge; but as he looked down into the square he was perplexed. "Yes," replied Pamela, "Millie Stretton is at home. Could anything be more fortunate?"