"That is, of course, for you to judge, my lord." His meaning was unmistakable. Cyril flushed angrily. Was it possible that the man dared to doubt his word? Dared to disbelieve his positive assertion that he knew nothing whatsoever about the murder? The damnable--suddenly he remembered! Remembered the lies he had been so glibly telling all day. Why should any one believe him in future? His ignominy was probably already stamped on his face. "I have nothing more to say," replied Cyril in a strangely meek voice. "That being the case, I'd better be off," said Judson, rising slowly from his chair. "Where are you going now?" "I can't quite tell, my lord. It is my intention to vanish, so to speak." "Vanish." "Yes, my lord. I work best in the dark; but you will hear from me as soon as I have something definite to report." "I hope you will be successful," said Cyril. "Thank you; I've never failed so far in anything I have undertaken. I must, however, warn you, my lord, that investigations sometimes lead to conclusions which no one could have foreseen when they were started. I always make a point of reminding my employers of this possibility." What the devil was the man driving at, thought Cyril; did he suspect him by any chance? That would be really too absurd! The man was an ass. "I shall never quarrel with you for discovering the truth," said Cyril, drawing himself up to his full height and glaring fiercely down at the little grey man. Then, turning abruptly on his heel he stalked indignantly out of the room, slamming the door behind him. CHAPTER VI THE MYSTERIOUS MAID "My lord." Cyril shook himself reluctantly awake. "Sorry to disturb you, but this 'as just come," said Peter, holding out a tray on which lay an opened telegram. His expression was so tragic that Cyril started up and seized the message. It was addressed to Peter Thompkins, Geralton Castle, Newhaven, and read: "Change for the better. Your presence necessary." Signed, "Stuart-Smith." "Why, that is good news!" cried Cyril greatly relieved. "What are you pulling such a long face for?" "You call it good news that you haven't got rid of that young woman yet?" exclaimed Peter. "This Stuart-Smith, whoever he may be, who is wiring you to come to 'er, thinks she's your wife, doesn't he? That was bad enough when you were just Mr. Crichton, but now it's just hawful. A Lady Wilmersley can't be hid as a Mrs. Crichton could, begging your pardon. Oh, it'll all come out, so it will, and you'll be 'ad up for bigamy, like as not!" Peter almost groaned. "Nonsense! As soon as the young lady recovers, she will join her friends and no one will be any the wiser." Peter shook his head incredulously. "Well, my lord, let's 'ope so! But what answer am I to send to this telegram? You can't leave the castle now." "It would certainly be inconvenient," agreed his master. "If you did, you'd be followed, my lord." "What do you mean? The police can't be such fools as all that."