“You'll oblige me very much, if you will. By Jove,” Sir Henry added, looking towards the door, “I'd no idea it was so late!” Philippa, who had changed her travelling dress for a plain black net gown, was standing in the doorway. She looked at the inspector, and for a moment the little colour which she had seemed to disappear. “Is anything the matter?” she asked breathlessly. “Nothing in the world, my dear,” her husband assured her. “I am frightfully sorry I'm so late. Jimmy stayed some time, and then the inspector here looked in about our lights. Just a little more care in this room at night, he thinks. We'll see to it, Inspector.” “I am very much obliged, sir,” the man replied. “Sorry to be under the necessity of mentioning it.” Sir Henry opened the door. “You'll find your own way out, won't you?” he begged. “I'm a little late.” The inspector saluted and withdrew. Sir Henry glanced round. “I won't be ten minutes, Philippa,” he promised. “I had no idea it was so late.” “Come here one moment, please,” she insisted. He came back into the room and stood on the other side of the small table near which she had paused. “What is it, dear?” he enquired. “We are going to leave our talk till after dinner, aren't we?” She looked him in the face. There was an anxious light in her eyes, and she was certainly not herself. “Of course! I only wanted to know--it seemed to me that you broke off in what you were saying to the inspector, as I came into the room. Are you sure that it was the lights he came around about? There isn't anything else wrong, is there?” “What else could there be?” he asked wonderingly. “I have no idea,” she replied, with well-simulated indifference. “I was only asking you whether there was anything else?” He shook his head. “Nothing!” She threw herself into an easy-chair and picked up a magazine. “Thank you,” she said. “Do hurry, please. I have a new cook and she asked particularly whether we were punctual people.” “Six minutes will see me through it,” Sir Henry promised, making for the door. “Come to think of it, I missed my lunch. I think I'll manage it in five.” CHAPTER VII Sir Henry was in a pleasant and expansive humour that evening. The new cook was an unqualified success, and he was conscious of having dined exceedingly well. He sat in a comfortable easy-chair before a blazing wood fire, he had just lit one of his favourite brand of cigarettes, and his wife, whom he adored, was seated only a few feet away. “Quite a remarkable change in Helen,” he observed. “She was in the depths of depression when I went away, and to-night she seems positively cheerful.” “Helen varies a great deal,” Philippa reminded him. “Still, to-night, I must say, I should have expected to have found her more depressed than ever,” Sir Henry went on. “She hoped so much from your trip to London, and you apparently accomplished nothing.” “Nothing at all.” “And you have had no letters?” “None.”