"You were poor Guy's intimate friend," I remarked as we sat together. "Have you ever heard him speak of a Mrs Olliffe, who lives somewhere near Bath?" "Oh yes," was his reply, as he sat twisting his wineglass by the stem. "He knew her. She had a niece or something, a Miss Farquhar, living with her, and he was rather sweet on her at one time, I believe." "Have you ever met the widow?" I asked. "Guy introduced me to them one night at the Savoy." "Where is the young lady now?" "Somewhere in India, I think. Her father's a civilian out there." "But this Mrs Olliffe," I said. "Don't you know any thing about her?" "Only that she is a widow, and very well off; has some fine pheasant shooting, I believe, and gives some gay week-end parties." "What was her husband?" "I fancy he was a banker, or something." I smiled within myself at his reply. "She's evidently in rather a good set," Cardew went on, "for I've often seen in the _Morning Post_ accounts of her parties, which seem to include quite a number of distinguished people." "Well," I said, "as you know, Cardew, I am busy making my own inquiries. It is a slow, tedious process, but I am hopeful of success. I intend to discover by what means poor Guy was killed; therefore his friends interest me--especially his women friends. For that reason I am trying to discover all I can concerning Mrs Olliffe." He was silent for a moment; then, bending across the table to me, said-- "It has never occurred to me before, Kemball, but somehow, now that I reflect, I can see that Guy appeared to be in fear of the lady we have just been discussing." "In fear of her?" "Yes. One circumstance made it quite plain. A little over a month ago, I was staying with him at the Grand at Eastbourne, and wanted him to come with me to Brighton for the week-end, but he told me he had an appointment on the Sunday which he could not break. I urged him to go, but he would not, and on Sunday night he went out about nine o'clock, and did not return until two in the morning. I chaffed him next morning. But he was pale and haggard, and his reply was significant. `No, old chap,' he said. `Sometimes a fellow gets into a bit of a hole. I'm in one--a woman, as you can guess. And I had to keep that appointment. I couldn't refuse her, for we had some serious business to transact. Ah,' he sighed, `if I could only think that I'd never see her again, by Gad! I'd be a different man!'" "And you guessed that he met the widow?" I said. "I know that he did, for later that same morning he let a remark drop casually that he had to see Mrs Olliffe off in Hastings." "Then she had some hold upon him?" "Apparently so. But Guy was always very close about his personal affairs." "That was over a month ago, eh?" "Perhaps six weeks."