d you overhear them?" asked Fetherston anxiously, apprehensive lest an
open quarrel had actually taken place. He knew well that Josef Blot,
alias Weirmarsh, was not a man to be trifled with. If Sir Hugh had served
his purpose, as he no doubt had, then he would be betrayed to the police
without compunction, just as others had been.

Walter Fetherston grew much perturbed at the knowledge of this quarrel
between the pair. His sole aim was to protect Sir Hugh, yet how to act he
knew not.

"You did not actually hear any of the words spoken, I suppose?" he
inquired of Enid.

"Not exactly, except that I heard my stepfather denounce the doctor as an
infernal cur and blackguard."

"Well, and what did Weirmarsh reply?"

"He threatened Sir Hugh, saying, 'You shall suffer for those words--you,
who owe everything to me!' I wonder," added the girl, "what he meant by
that?"

"Who knows!" exclaimed Walter. "Some secret exists between them. You told
me that you suspected it long ago."

"And I do," she said, lowering her voice. "That man holds Sir Hugh in the
hollow of his hand--of that I'm sure. I have noticed after each of the
doctor's visits how pale and thoughtful he always is."

"Have you tried to learn the reason of it all?" inquired the novelist
quietly, his gaze fixed upon her.

"I have," she replied, with slight hesitation.

Walter Fetherston contemplated in silence the fine cat's-eye and diamond
ring upon his finger--a ring sent him long ago by an anonymous admirer of
his books, which he had ever since worn as a mascot.

At one moment he held this girl in distinct suspicion; at the next,
however, he realised her peril, and resolved to stand by her as her
champion.

Did he really and honestly love her? He put that question to himself a
thousand times. And for the thousandth time was he compelled to answer in
the affirmative.

"By which route do you intend travelling to Italy to-morrow?" he asked.

"By Paris and Modane. We go first for a week to Nervi, on the coast
beyond Genoa," was her reply.

Fetherston paused. If she put foot in France she would, he knew, be at
once placed under arrest as an accomplice of Paul Le Pontois. When
Weirmarsh took revenge he always did his work well. No doubt the French
police were already at Calais awaiting her arrival.

"I would change the route," he suggested. "Go by Ostend, Strasburg and
Milan."

"Mrs. Caldwell has already taken our tickets," she said. "Besides, it is
a t