t or two?"

"As much as you care to have, sir. It's all in the hall cupboard along
with the typewriter itself. Master had them taken there when he'd
finished his book and let the typist go. I'll get you some in an
instant, sir."

He hurried away forthwith and was back presently with half a dozen
sheets of typewriting paper, a bit of pencil and an envelope, which
latter he had included on the off-chance of its being needed.

Walking a few paces away, Cleek rested the paper against the wall,
scribbled a few hasty words, sealed them up in the envelope, and then
handed it over to Hamer.

"Here, take this thing to Miss Lorne. You'll find her in the
drawing-room," he said, as he threw the remaining sheets which he had
employed as a sort of writing pad upon one of the hall chairs. "You can
attend to that litter afterward. Move sharp!"

He turned as he spoke, as if to go upstairs again, but the very instant
Hamer had disappeared he went fleetly back to the chair, caught up one
of the sheets of paper, folded it carefully, slid it into his pocket,
and passing swiftly and soundlessly down the hall, opened the door and
went out again into the night.

Hitherto all had been speculation, theory, guesswork, not irrefutable
facts; hitherto all clues had been mere possibilities, never actual
certainties. Now----

The curious smile travelled up his cheek, slipped down again, and left
his face as hard and as colourless as a mask of stone. He turned as he
rounded the angle of the house and glanced back to where the windows of
the dining-room cut two luminous rectangles in the fragrant,
flower-scented darkness; then his eye travelled farther on, and dwelt a
moment on the chinks of light that arrowed out from the curtained bay of
the library.

"Poor old chap! Poor, dear old chap!" he said between shut teeth.

The tightly woven fabric of last night's mystery had started to unravel.
In one little corner a flaw had suddenly sprung into existence, and
to-night the first loosened thread was in this man's hands.

He set his back to the lighted windows and forged on through the
darkness until the swerving path brought him to the little summerhouse
where, earlier, he had first met Ailsa, and stepping in, threw himself
into a rustic seat and bent forward with his elbows upon his knees and
his face between his hands: a grim and silent figure in the loneliness
and the darkness.

Five minutes passed--six, seven--and found him still sitting