“Thanks. If it’s anybody as useful as yourself, you needn’t take the trouble,” said Gerard sarcastically, as he passed the young lady and went in search of the restoratives of which she had spoken. But Mademoiselle Laure kept the door of her room locked when she was away; and angry and impatient, Gerard dashed back through the rooms and ran downstairs into the shop below in search of more intelligent assistance. By the time he got back to the little room where he had left the body of Reginald Candover stretched upon the floor, however, a strange thing had happened, a thing which reminded him of a certain mysterious occurrence related to him by his wife. For the door of the little room was open, and there was no one in it but Mademoiselle Laure, sallow, forbidding, with stealthy eyes, and a district messenger boy to whom she was giving money and a telegram to be dispatched. Mademoiselle looked at him steadily and he returned the look. Though they had not met before, each guessed who the other was, and mutual antagonism was apparent in their stiff greeting. “Mr. Candover is gone then?” said Gerard, raising his hat and holding out the brandy he had brought. She merely shrugged her shoulders coldly, pretending not to understand, and walked up to the showrooms, leaving him to enter the little room where the unlucky incident had occurred, and to await, in much perplexity, the return of his own emissaries. In the meantime he remarked that the rug on which Mr. Candover had fallen, and which had been stained with his blood, had been taken away. It seemed a long time before Geoffrey came back, and when he did so, he was alone. He came slowly and as it were reluctantly up the stairs, and opening the door of the room very slowly, put his head inside, and asked in a fearful whisper:-- “Has he come round yet?” “He’s come round and gone off,” replied Gerard rather gruffly. “So if you’ve brought a doctor----” “But I haven’t,” retorted Geoffrey briskly, as he swung himself into the room with a look of great relief, and stared in some bewilderment at his cousin. “What have you done with the fellow?” said he. “I? Nothing. I went to get brandy, and when I came up he was gone, and there was a horrible old Frenchwoman here.” “Old Laure, I suppose. I know her.” “And she pretended not to understand my questions. So we bowed to each other, and separated. But what has become of the man I haven’t the least idea.” Geoffrey looked round him apprehensively, and thrust his hand through his cousin’s arm. “Look here,” said he, “I’ve had enough of this den. And so have you, I should think. You look awful, white as a sheet and with eyes like two holes burnt in a blanket. Come along and let’s have some luncheon and a bottle of champagne.” Gerard freed himself. “No,” said he. “I’ve got to stay here, where there’s something to be found out. I couldn’t go away, if I would, till Audrey comes back. You forget that. You needn’t stay unless you like.”