"Yes, sir. She spoke with a funny kind of lisp, which made me think she might be a foreigner. She said she knew you quite well, being a friend of your aunt's, and that you were travelling down to Hampshire this morning, your uncle having been taken ill. I remarked that it was strange that you shouldn't come home for your bag and things, but she gave me a message from you to send a bag packed with your clothes by train from Waterloo to Christchurch Station marked `To be called for.'" "But didn't you think her story a very lame one, Parker?" I asked, angry that my old serving-woman should have thus been misled and deceived. "Of course I did, sir, especially as you were absent all night. I told her that, and she said that you had called upon her, and finding your aunt, Lady Durrant, there on a visit, remained to supper. While at supper a telegram had arrived summoning your aunt home, as your uncle had been taken dangerously ill, and at once you had resolved to accompany her. But you've hurt your head, sir, haven't you?" she added, noticing my bandages. "Yes," I answered. "I fell down. It is nothing--my own carelessness." The story was, to say the least, a most ingenious one. Whoever the mysterious woman was she apparently knew that my uncle, Sir Charles Durrant, lived in the neighbourhood of Christchurch; that he was at that moment in a very critical state of health, suffering from paralysis, and further, that I had considerable expectations from him, and would not hesitate to travel down to see him if I knew him to be worse. One thing, therefore, was quite plain, namely, that my family affairs were perfectly well known to these persons whose movements were so mystifying. "It was foolish of you, Parker, very foolish indeed, to have given credence to such an absurd tale as that," I said, annoyed. "You are usually a shrewd woman, but you have displayed no discretion in this affair--none whatever." "I'm very sorry, sir," the woman answered. "But I knew that if Sir Charles were worse you'd go down to the Manor at once. Did you really send nobody, sir?" "No; nobody at all. There's some underhand business in all this, Parker, so keep your wits about you." "And haven't you seen her ladyship at all, sir?" she inquired, in her turn astonished. "No, and, moreover, I know nothing of this mysterious woman who came to you with this cock-and-bull story. Did she say where she lived, or give any card?" "No, she didn't, sir." "I suppose you'd know her again if you saw her?" "Well," she answered with considerable hesitancy, "I don't know as I should, sir. You see, she wore one of them white lace veils which makes it difficult to distinguish the features." "But what object could any one have in coming to you and telling a falsehood in that manner?" I cried, my anger increased by the knowledge of Parker's inability to again recognise the bearer of the false message.