Mr. Royle--not to-night. If after making
inquiry into the matter you care to come and see me when I am back in
Park Mansions, I shall be very happy to receive you. By that time,
however, I hope we shall have had news of poor Digby's whereabouts."

"If I hear from him--as I expect to--how can I communicate with you?" I
asked.

For a few seconds she stood wondering.

"Write to me to Park Mansions," she replied. "My letters are always
forwarded."

And raising her umbrella she herself hailed a passing taxi.

"Remember my warning," were her final words as she gave the man an
address in Regent's Park, and entered the conveyance. "Go and see Phrida
Shand at once and tell her what I have said."

"May I mention your name?" I asked hoarsely.

"Yes," she replied. "Good-night."

And a moment later I was gazing at the red back-lamp of the taxi, while
soon afterwards I again caught a glimpse of the same lonely seller of
shawls whom I had seen at the Tube station, trudging wearily homeward,
there being no business doing at that hour of the evening.

CHAPTER XII.

PHRIDA MAKES CONFESSION.

I sat in my rooms in Albemarle Street utterly bewildered.

My meeting with the mysterious woman who wore the spray of mimosa had,
instead of assisting to clear up the mystery, increased it a hundredfold.

The grave suspicions I had entertained of Phrida had been corroborated by
her strangely direct insinuations and her suggestion that I should go to
her and tell her plainly what had been alleged.

Therefore, after a sleepless night, I went to Cromwell Road next morning,
determined to know the truth. You can well imagine my state of mind when
I entered Mrs. Shand's pretty morning-room, where great bowls of
daffodils lent colour to the otherwise rather dull apartment.

Phrida entered, gay, fresh, and charming, in a dark skirt and white
blouse, having just risen from breakfast.

"Really, Teddy," she laughed, "you ought to be awarded a prize for early
rising. I fear I'm horribly late. It's ten o'clock. But mother and I went
last night to the Aldwych, and afterwards with the Baileys to supper at
the Savoy. So I may be forgiven, may I not--eh?"

"Certainly, dear," I replied, placing my hand upon her shoulder. "What
are you doing to-day?"

"Oh! I'm quite full up with engagements," she replied, crossing to the
writing-table and consulting a porcelain writing tablet.

"I'm due at my dressmaker's at half-past eleven, then I've t