ttered.

A silence fell between us, and as my eyes fixed themselves upon her, I
saw that from her handsome mobile countenance all the light and life had
suddenly gone out, and I knew that she was in secret possession of the
key to that remarkable enigma that so puzzled me.

Of a sudden the door opened, and a voice cried gayly--

"Why, I've been looking everywhere for you, Muriel. Why are you hidden
here? Aren't you coming?"

We both turned, and as she did so a low cry of blank dismay
involuntarily escaped her.

Next instant I sprang to my feet. The reason of her cry was apparent,
for there, in the full light of the golden sunset streaming through the
long open windows, stood a broad-shouldered, fair-bearded man in tennis
flannels and a Panama hat--the fugitive I knew as Philip Hornby!

I faced him, speechless.

CHAPTER IV

IN WHICH THE MYSTERY INCREASES

Neither of us spoke. Equally surprised at the unexpected encounter, we
stood facing each other dumbfounded.

Hornby started quickly as soon as his eyes fell upon me, and his face
became blanched to the lips, while Muriel Leithcourt, quick to notice
the sudden change in him, rose and introduced us in as calm a voice as
she could command.

"I don't think you are acquainted," she said to me with a smile. "This
is Mr. Martin Woodroffe--Mr. Gordon Gregg."

I bowed to him in sudden resolve to remain silent in pretense that I
doubted whether the man before me was actually my host of the _Lola_. I
intended to act as though I was not sufficiently convinced to openly
express my doubt. Therefore we bowed, exchanging greetings as strangers,
while, carefully watching, I saw how greatly the minds of both were
relieved. They shot meaning glances at each other, and then, as though
reassured that I was mystified and uncertain, the man who called himself
Woodroffe explained to my companion------

"I've been over to Newton Stewart with Fred all day, and only got back a
quarter of an hour ago. Aren't you playing any more to-day?"

"I think not," was her reply. "We've been out there the whole afternoon,
and I'm rather tired. But they're still on the lawn. You can surely get
a game with someone."

"If you don't play, I shan't. I returned to keep the promise I made
this morning," he laughed, standing before the big open fireplace,
holding his tennis racquet behind his back.

I examined his countenance, and was more than ever convinced that he was
actually the man