as a
foil to the vast eternal scene. The hanging judge still strutted with
his cigar, peering jocosely from under the broad brim of his Panama; the
great actor still posed aloof, the human Matterhorn of the group. I
descried no showy woman with a tall youth dancing attendance; among the
brick-red English faces there was not one that bore the least
resemblance to the latest photograph of Bob Evers.

A little consideration suggested my first move.

"I think I saw a visitors' book in the hall," I said. "I may as well
stick down my name."

But before doing so I ran my eye up and down the pages inscribed by
those who had arrived that month.

"See anybody you know?" inquired Quinby, who hovered obligingly at my
elbow. It was really necessary to be as disingenuous as possible, more
especially with a person whose own conversation was evidently quite
unguarded.

"Yes, by Jove I do! Robin Evers, of all people!"

"Do you know him?"

The question came pretty quickly. I was sorry I had said so much.

"Well, I once knew a small boy of that name; but then they are not a
small clan."

"His mother's the Honourable," said Quinby, with studious unconcern, yet
I fancied with increased interest in me.

"I used to see something of them both," I deliberately admitted, "when
the lad was little. How has he turned out?"

Quinby gave his peculiar nasal laugh.

"A nice youth," said he. "A very nice youth!"

"Do you mean nice or nasty?" I asked, inclined to bridle at his tone.

"Oh, anything but nasty," said Quinby. "Only--well--perhaps a bit rapid
for his years!"

I stooped and put my name in the book before making any further remark.
Then I handed Quinby my cigarette-case, and we sat down on the nearest
lounge.

"Rapid, is he?" said I. "That's quite interesting. And how does it take
him?"

"Oh, not in any way that's discreditable; but as a matter of fact,
there's a gay young widow here, and they're fairly going it!"

I lit my cigarette with a certain unexpected sense of downright
satisfaction. So there was something in it after all. It had seemed such
a fool's errand in the train.

"A young widow," I repeated, emphasising one of Quinby's epithets and
ignoring the other.

"I mean, of course, she's a good deal older than Evers."

"And her name?"

"A Mrs. Lascelles."

I nodded.

"Do you happen to know anything about her, Captain Clephane?"

"I can't say I do."

"No more does anybody else," said Quinby, "except th