As the adieus were being said, Judith realised that Good was missing. In the early part of the evening, he had wandered in and out, now watching the play, now chatting momentarily with someone who was free; but had finally disappeared. She could not believe that his unceremonious absence was permanent, although she knew that that was not impossible. So as soon as she could, after attending to the comfort of those who were to spend the night with her, she went in search of him. II But while she dallied, Tragedy was stalking in the Wynrod gardens, where only Comedy was meant to play. Good, after those restless efforts to behave as a gentleman should behave, which Judith had noted, had betaken himself with his musings to the peaceful solitude of the garden. What was a commonplace to the others still bore a singular charm for him. He was content to smoke and dream and watch the shadows at their endless dance. He was vaguely tired, and it was very quiet. But his peace was short. The sound of whispering voices came to him through the trees. At first he thought it only the rustling of the leaves. Then the sudden, strangled cry of a woman brought him to his feet, his heart pounding. For a moment he stood listening, every muscle in a tremble. The voices could be heard more clearly now, and they seemed to come from a small summer-house just behind him. He moved slowly toward it. "I think we'll end this right here." He recognised the voice as Baker's, though unbelievably changed. The words seemed to come through clenched teeth. Another voice--a man's--made some reply, but the chatter of the crickets and the plashing of a fountain prevented him from catching what it was. He relaxed and was about to turn around, when that same agonised choking call smote his ears again. He hesitated no longer. As he plunged into the little building a branch swayed in the breeze and the moonlight broke through. It revealed two men facing each other. One was Baker. His fist was raised and clenched. The other he could not place for a moment. Then it flashed upon him. He had seen him once before. It was Faxon. "Now then--" Good's lean wrist shot forward. "Wait a bit." Baker struggled momentarily but futilely. Good was a powerful man when he chose to exert himself. "Fine business, this," said Good as coolly as if he were inspecting a company on dress parade. "What's the excitement?" As he spoke he was conscious that there was a third person in the shelter, beside the two men--a woman. Then a gleam of light entered momentarily and he realised that it was Baker's wife. With a low whistle he turned to Faxon.