"Good Lord, man! You talk as if I could order one from Whiteley's. When can I get you a corpse--indeed? To-morrow--in a week--a month--a year--never. The last-mentioned date I consider the most likely. I will do what I can, that is all I can say; but how I am to go to work, upon my word, I haven't the faintest idea." "You are an awfully clever chap, Guy." "None of your blarney. I won't have it! I am the absolute fool, but I am still sane enough to know it." "Very well, I'll acknowledge that you are a fool and I only wish there were more like you," said Cyril, clapping his friend affectionately on the back. "By the way," he added, turning away as if in search of a match and trying to speak as carelessly as possible, "How is Anita?" For a moment Guy did not answer and Cyril stood fumbling with the matches fearful of the effect of the question. He was still doubtful how far his friend had receded from his former position and was much relieved when Guy finally answered in a very subdued voice: "She is pretty well--but--" He hesitated. Cyril turned quickly round. He noticed that Guy's face had lengthened perceptibly and that he toyed nervously with his eye-glass. "What is the matter?" he inquired anxiously. "The fact is," replied Campbell, speaking slowly and carefully avoiding the other's eye, "I think it is possible that she misses you." Cyril's heart gave a sudden jump. "I can hardly believe it," he managed to stutter. "Of course, Miss Trevor may be mistaken. It was her idea, not mine, that Ani--Lady Wilmersley I mean--is worrying over your absence. But whatever the cause, the fact remains that she has changed very much. She is no longer frank and cordial in her manner either to Miss Trevor or myself. It seems almost as if she regarded us both with suspicion, though what she can possibly suspect us of, I can't for the life of me imagine. That day at lunch she was gay as a child, but now she is never anything but sad and preoccupied." "Perhaps she is beginning to remember the past," suggested Cyril. "How can I tell? Miss Trevor and I have tried everything we could think of to induce her to confide in us, but she won't. Possibly you might be more successful--" An involuntary sigh escaped Campbell. "I am sorry now that I prevented you from seeing her. Mind you, I still think it wiser not to do so, but I ought to have left you free to use your own judgment. The number of her sitting-room is 62, on the second floor and, for some reason or other, she insists on being left there alone every afternoon from three to four. Now I have told you all I know of the situation and you must handle it as you think best." CHAPTER XVIII A SLIP OF THE TONGUE