“No, no--forgive me. He’s safe. I’ve kept watch of the bulletins.” “Thank God!” said Lady Heathcote, and sent her whiplash swirling over the ears of the erring leader. “Not Algy--Byfield----” “Byfield--not dead----?” “No. Worse.” “What----?” “In prison. He was taken into custody yesterday afternoon as he was leaving the War Office. Orders from ‘K.’” “You can’t mean that Richard Byfield is----” Sandys nodded quickly. “Yes. He was one of the leaks--a spy.” “A spy!” Betty Heathcote whispered in awestricken tones. “A spy--Dick! Horrible! I can’t--I won’t----” “Unfortunately there’s not the least doubt about it. They found incriminating evidence at his rooms.” “My God!” said Lady Heathcote. “What are we coming to? Dick Byfield--why, two nights ago he was a guest at my table--with you, and you----” Doris nodded faintly, the landscape swimming in a dark mist before her eyes. Byfield--Cyril--Rizzio--all three had been at Lady Heathcote’s dinner. Something had happened that night--only a part of which she knew. Byfield was arrested--and Cyril---- She clutched desperately at the edge of the seat and set her jaw to keep herself from speaking Cyril’s name. “Were there--any others?” she asked, with an effort. “None so far. But there must have been others. God help them! They won’t get any mercy.” “But what made him do such a thing?” asked Betty. “I could have sworn----” “Money--lots of it. He wasn’t very well off, you know.” They were swinging over the ridge towards Kilmorack House in a tragic silence mocked by the high jubilant notes of the coach horn which the groom was winding to announce their approach. Doris got down swiftly, summoning her courage to be silent and wait. In the drawing-room when the news was told, Constance Joyliffe added another note of gloom. “We’re going to be a lively party,” said Lady Heathcote bitterly. “Thank the Lord, John Rizzio is coming.” “Rizzio!” Doris flashed around, her terror written so plainly that anyone might read. “Yes. I had his wire at Innerwick when I was waiting for you.” And then catching the girl by the arm, “Why, dear, what is the matter?” “I--I think I’ll go up to my room if you don’t mind, Betty. I won’t have any luncheon. A cup of tea is all.” She moved toward the door, her hand in Lady Heathcote’s. “And Betty--the package, please--I--I think it may soothe me to smoke.” Betty examined her quizzically but made no comment, though she couldn’t understand such a strange proceeding in a girl who was accustomed to do exactly as she pleased. She got the package from her desk in the library and handed Doris the silk stockings, tobacco, and the yellow packet. The wrapping paper which had been soiled had been relegated to the scrap-basket. “And Betty----” pleaded Doris as she quickly took them, “promise me that you won’t tell John Rizzio.” Lady Heathcote glanced at her quickly and then laughed.