"Oh, Mary, listen to this!" she exclaimed. "'Mysterious outrage in Dashwood Park. Only this morning the body of a well dressed man was found lying in the avenue of Dashwood Park, the residence of Sir Vincent Dashwood. Robbery appears to have been the motive, for the pockets of the unfortunate man had been turned out, and his watch and chain were gone. As the sufferer was in evening dress, and had every appearance of being a gentleman, inquiries were made, with the result that the gentleman has been identified as Ralph Darnley. He is at present lying at the dower house in a precarious condition!'" With a broken cry Mary rose to her feet. Her face was white as death and her hands were convulsively locked together. In a faint voice she asked for a time table; she wanted to know what time the next train went. "You are going down to Dashwood?" Connie asked. "Oh, of course I am," Mary wept. "I could not stay away. I must be near him so that I may know how he is progressing. I must help to nurse him back to life again. I owe him everything--my very existence, my new self, my womanhood that has come as such a precious thing to me. And to think that once I was fool enough to prefer pride to the affection of a man like that, who----" "Mary, Mary, you love him. You love Ralph Darnley like that!" Mary's eyes shone with a strange light. She flung her hands above her head despairingly. "I know it now," she said, "now that it is perhaps too late. Yes, ever since I first met Ralph I have loved him with my whole heart and soul." CHAPTER LV. NOT DEAD Mayfield's face was grim and set; there was just a flash of contempt in his eyes for Speed, who was breathing hard. The dramatic part of the situation was lost on Mr. George Dashwood, who could think of nothing else beyond the speculative possibilities that Mayfield had been holding out to him. "You don't seem to be any better," Mayfield said to Speed, "you look ghastly. Anybody would think that you had been caught in some crime." Behind the contemptuous words there was a note of warning to Speed. Anybody less blind than George Dashwood would have noticed how agitated he was. Speed caught just a glimpse of his own features in a quaint old mirror over the fireplace. He could see that he was green and grey by turns; he started at his own haggard face. Small wonder, then, that Mayfield had given him a warning. "I'm feeling like a corpse," he said. "It's agony for me to sit up any longer. If you don't mind, I think I'll go to bed." "Why not try the fresh air?" Dashwood suggested. "It is a cure sometimes." "Drizzling with rain," Speed replied. "Darnley turned up the collar of his overcoat as he passed the window. I could see him from behind the screen. On the whole, I should be far better between the sheets." As he spoke Speed shot a questioning glance at Mayfield. The latter nodded.