His color rose a little. He was not so insensible as he tried to appear, but his bow was flagrantly ironical. “Good morning, Miss Ffolliot,” he answered, frigidly. “I should like a word with your father--if I could trouble you so far as to tell him that I am here.” “My father will be exceedingly sorry to have missed you,” I answered, smiling upon him; “he is out just now.” His frown deepened, and he was obviously annoyed. He made ready to depart. “Can you tell me when he will be in?” he asked. “I will call again.” “I am afraid that I cannot positively,” I answered. “We expect him home on Friday, but I don’t know at what time.” He turned round upon me with a sudden change on his face. His curiously colored eyes seemed to have caught fire. “Do you mean that he has gone away?” he asked, brusquely. “He has gone to London this afternoon,” I answered. “Can I give him any message from you?” He stood quite still, and seemed to be looking me through and through. Then he drew a small time-table from his pocket. “Annesly Junction, 3.30; St. Pancras, 7.50,” he muttered to himself. “Thank you; good morning.” He turned upon his heel, but I called him back. “Mr. Deville.” He stopped short and looked round. “I beg your pardon,” he said; “I am in a hurry.” “Oh, very well,” I answered. “I should be sorry to detain you. You dropped something when you took out your time-table, and it occurred to me that you might want it again. That is all.” He came back with three great strides. A square envelope, to which I was pointing, lay on the ground almost at my feet. As he stooped to pick it up I too glanced at it for the second time. A little exclamation escaped from my lips. He looked at me inquiringly. “Is anything the matter?” he asked. I shook my head. “Good morning Mr. Deville.” He hesitated for a moment. He was evidently desirous of knowing why I had uttered that exclamation. I did not choose to satisfy him. “I thought you made some remark,” he said. “What was it?” “It was nothing,” I told him. “You are in a hurry, I think you said. Don’t let me keep you.” He pocketed the envelope and strode away. Alice came out of the low window to me, looking after him with wide-open eyes. “What an extraordinary man!” she exclaimed. But I did not answer her immediately, I had found something else to think about. There was no possibility of any mistake. The handwriting upon the envelope which Mr. Deville had dropped was the same as that which had summoned my father to London. CHAPTER VI THE MILLIONAIRE On the Thursday following my father’s departure for London Lady Naselton sent her carriage for me, and a note marked urgent. It contained only a few lines, evidently written in a hurry. “Naselton, _Thursday_.