athlessly that she must see Guy Oscard
at once. Lady Cantourne, wise woman of the world that she was, said
nothing. She merely finished her toilet, and, when the carriage was
ready, they drove round by Russell Square.

"Who was it from?" asked Millicent.

"From a person named Gordon, miss."

"And what did it say?"

"Well, miss, as I said before, I did not rightly see. But it seems that
it said, 'Come at once.' I saw that."

"And what else? Be quick, please."

"I think there was mention of somebody bein' surrounded, miss. Some name
like Denver, I think. No! Wait a bit; it wasn't that; it was somebody
else."

Finishing off the port had also meant beginning it, and the worthy
butler's mind was not particularly clear.

"Was there any mention of Mr. Oscard's partner, Mr.--eh--Meredith?"
asked Millicent, glancing at the clock.

"Yes, miss, there was that name, but I don't rightly remember in what
connection."

"It didn't say that he--" Millicent paused and drew in her breath with a
jerk--"was dead, or anything like that?"

"Oh, no, miss."

"Thank you. I--am sorry we missed Mr. Oscard."

She turned and went back to Lady Cantourne, who was sitting in the
carriage. And while she was dancing the second extra with the first
comer at four o'clock the next morning, Guy Oscard was racing out of
Plymouth Sound into the teeth of a fine, driving rain. On the bridge
of the trembling tug-boat, by Oscard's side, stood a keen-eyed Channel
pilot, who knew the tracks of the steamers up and down Channel as a
gamekeeper knows the hare-tracks across a stubble-field. Moreover,
the tug-boat caught the big steamer pounding down into the grey of
the Atlantic Ocean, and in due time Guy Oscard landed on the beach at
Loango.

He had the telegram still in his pocket, and he went, not to Maurice
Gordon's office, but to the bungalow.

Jocelyn greeted him with a little inarticulate cry of joy.

"I did not think that you could possibly be here so soon," she said.

"What news have you?" he asked, without pausing to explain. He was
one of those men who are silenced by an unlimited capacity for prompt
action.

"That," she replied, handing him the note written by Jack Meredith to
Marie at Msala.

Guy Oscard read it carefully.

"Dated seven weeks last Monday--nearly two months ago," he muttered,
half to himself.

He raised his head and looked out of the window. There were lines of
anxiety round his eyes. Jocelyn never took her glanc