"Praise from Mrs. Ward is praise, indeed," said the ironical old gentleman as he descended the stairs side by side with the woman who could have found it in her heart to kill him. "I am sorry to ask you to leave me so soon, as our conversation was most enjoyable. But I have to see a certain Mr. Ireland----" "Is that Brendon's guardian?" asked Mrs. Ward, coming to a sudden stop in the hall. "His former guardian," corrected Derrington. "How do you come to know of him, Mrs. Ward?" "I think Dorothy mentioned the name," she said in rather a faltering tone. "Dear me, how my face burns! I wish I had a veil." "I am sorry, Mrs. Ward, but the late Lady Derrington's veils are not modern enough for you." "What nonsense!" said Mrs. Ward, who appeared flurried. "Please tell your man to call a cab. I sent away the carriage." "Let me send you home in mine." "No! No, I want to go at once," and she approached the door quickly. "When did you say Mr. Ireland was coming?" Derrington glanced at his watch. "He is due now," he said, and looked at her, wondering why she asked the question. Mrs. Ward's face was turned away. She was dressed in furs and carried a muff. When the door was opened by the footman a gentleman appeared on the threshold. Mrs. Ward lifted her muff to her face, but not before the stranger had caught sight of her face and had uttered an ejaculation of surprise. "You!" he said, stepping forward. "What do you mean?" said Mrs. Ward, with her face still hidden. "Lord Derrington, this friend of yours is making a mistake. Tell that man to be quick calling a cab." And she moved past the stranger. "Pardon," he said politely, "but I wish to speak with you." Derrington bent his bushy brows. "Let the lady pass," he said; "who are you, sir, to stop the egress of my guests?" "My name is Rodger Ireland," said the stranger, quietly, "and I have been looking for that lady for over thirty years." "What does the man mean?" asked Mrs. Ward, haughtily, but looking disturbed. "Lord Derrington," said Ireland, "I think if you will permit this lady and me to have a talk----" "There seems to be some mistake," said Derrington. "Mrs. Ward, will you not wait until we rectify it?" "No. The man is mad. Let me pass, sir. There is the cab." She would have stepped out but Ireland again placed his bulky form in her way. It was all done so tactfully that the footman on the pavement did not notice anything unusual. The man was waiting by the cab to assist Mrs. Ward in. But Ireland would not let her pass. "Lord Derrington," he said softly, lest the footman should overhear, "this is the lady who was with your son when he was murdered."