As we set foot upon the long, deserted Terrace, strolling slowly forward in the balmy, refreshing night air, my thoughts wandered back to the last occasion when we had spent an evening together beside the Thames, that memorable night at "The Nook," when we had afterwards discovered Dudley Ogle lying dead. During the first half-hour we discussed the progress of several questions of foreign policy which had been pursued during his absence, and he, an enthusiast in politics, confided in me his intention to head a select circle of his party to demand a commission of inquiry into the working of our mobilisation scheme for home defence. "One would think that you desired to obtain further notoriety," I laughed. "Surely you are popular enough; you are now the man of the hour." "Well, I suppose I am," he answered, a trifle proudly, halting suddenly, leaning with his back to the stone parapet and puffing vigorously at his cigar. "But it isn't for the sake of notoriety that I'm pressing forward this inquiry. It is for the benefit of the country generally. The scheme for the mobilisation of our forces in case of invasion is utterly rotten, and had we been compelled to fight a little time ago, when France and Russia were upon the point of declaring war, we should have been in a wretched plight. The scheme is all very well on paper, but I and my friends are determined to ascertain whether it will act. It has never been tested, and no doubt it is utterly unworkable. What, indeed, can be said of a scheme which decrees that in case of an enemy landing on our shores a regiment of cavalry, now in London, must draw its horses from Dublin! Why, the thing's absurd. We don't mean to rest until the whole matter is thoroughly threshed out." "You intend to worry up the War Office a little," I observed, smiling. "Yes," he answered, ostentatiously. "We intend to bring public opinion to bear so heavily upon them that they will be absolutely bound to submit to the inquiry. This is, however, a secret for the present. It is best that the newspapers should not get hold of it yet. You understand?" "Of course," I said. We stood watching the dark, swirling waters and enjoying the cool night breeze that swept along the river, causing the lamps to flicker, when he suddenly asked,--"How is Ella? I quite forgot to ask after your wife." "I don't know," I replied, after a brief pause. "Don't know?" he echoed, looking at me, puzzled. "Why, what's the matter?" "She has left me," I answered gravely. "Left you!" he cried, removing his cigar and staring at me. "Have you quarrelled?" "No. On my return home one night in January I found a note of farewell from her. I have heard nothing of her since. Mrs Laing disappeared on the same day." "Disappeared!" he gasped. My announcement had caused him the greatest consternation, for he stood agape. "Have you no idea of the reason?"