"All right, sir," nodded Hewitt, and was away before Giles came back with the umbrella. And Karl got off at last. Perhaps Mr. Burtenshaw was astonished, perhaps not, to see Sir Karl Andinnian enter that same afternoon. He, the detective, was poring over his papers, as usual, but he turned from them to salute his visitor. "Will you take a seat, Sir Karl, for two minutes. After that, I am at your service." "You know me, then, Mr. Burtenshaw!" exclaimed Karl. "The man who happened to come into the room with Grimley, the last time you were here, sir, said you were Sir Karl Andinnian," replied the officer without scruple. "Take a seat, sir, pray." Mr. Burtenshaw placed four or five letters, already written, within their envelopes, directed, and stamped them. Then he quitted the room, probably to send them to the post, came in again, and drew a chair in front of Karl. "He is looking worse than ever," was the mental summary of the detective--"but what a nice face it is!" Ay, it was. The pale, beautiful features, their refined expression, the thoughtfulness in the sweet grey eyes, and the strange sadness that pervaded every lineament, made a picture that was singularly attractive. Karl had one glove off; and the diamond and opal ring he always wore in remembrance of his father flashed in the sunlight. For the buff blinds were not down to-day. He had wished to give the ring back to his brother, when he found he had no right to it himself, but Adam had insisted upon his keeping it and wearing it, lest "the world might inquire where the ring was gone." Another little deceit, as it always seemed to Karl. "I have called here, Mr. Burtenshaw, to ask you to answer me a question honestly. Have you--stay though," he broke off. "As you know me, I presume you know where I live?" "Quite well, Sir Karl. I was at the Court once in Sir Joseph Andinnian's time." "Ay, of course you would know it. Now for my question. Have you sent a detective officer down to Foxwood after Philip Salter?" "I have not," replied Mr. Burtenshaw, with, Karl thought, a stress upon the "I." "But you know that one is there?" "Why do you ask me this?" cried Mr. Burtenshaw, making no immediate reply. "Because I have reason to believe, in fact to know, that a detective officer is at Foxwood, and I wish to ascertain what he is there for. I presume it can only be to search after Philip Salter." "And what if it were?" asked Mr. Burtenshaw. "Nothing. Nothing that could in any way affect you. I want to ascertain it, yes or no, for my own private and individual satisfaction." "Well, you are right, Sir Karl. One of our men has gone down there with that object." Karl paused. "I suppose _I_ have led to it," he said. "That is, that it has been done in consequence of the inquiries I made of you." "Of those you made of Grimley, sir, not of me. I had nothing to do with sending Tatton down----" Karl caught at the name. "Tatton, do you call him?" he interrupted. And Mr. Burtenshaw nodded.