'I say, if you love your husband you will insist on getting from him the answer which he refused to give me. There's a mystery, Mrs.

Merrett--a mystery; and that double-named gentleman is at the back of it. My varied experience in all branches of the profession has given me the eyes of a hawk, and yesterday I saw right through him.'

'But, Mr. FitzHoward----'

'But me no buts. If you won't go I will; and I'll try to conceal the fact that I've come because you wouldn't. There are wives like that, but I didn't think that you were one.'

I stood up, and I hit the table with the rolling-pin. I was not going to stand talk like that from him, or from anyone.'

'Mr. FitzHoward, I know my James, and he won't thank you for interfering with his private affairs, nor me either. If you come to mysteries, why, his whole life's a mystery: but he'll be the first to tell you not to trouble yourself about him, but to look after mysteries of your own.'

'What if he's dead?'

'Mr. FitzHoward! how can you say such things? What makes you think it?'

'I don't want to agitate you; I don't want to cause alarm. But I have my intuitions--here.' He tapped his shirt front. 'What surprises me is that you haven't got intuitions, too.'

'What makes you--have them?'

'My trained intelligence. If all's well there'll be no harm done by your running round to Brook Street, and putting that question to the Hon. Douglas Howarth. If he's able to clear himself--which, mind, I hope!--he'll have my congratulations, and you too. No one can blame the anxiety of a loving woman's heart. And I can only say that if I were in your position, knowing what you know, and what I know, I shouldn't be able to lay my head upon my pillow this night, if I was weighed down by the consciousness that I hadn't moved a finger to find out whether my husband was alive or dead. I shouldn't dare to go to sleep.'

Oh, dear, how that man did work upon my feelings! How he did upset me!

He almost drove me to hysterics. Goodness knows that often and often I've laid awake all night, wondering if James was dead, and, if so, where he was buried, sopping my pillow with my tears, and making myself quite ill. But I never had been talked to like that man talked to me that afternoon. I was half beside myself through not knowing what I ought to do. I knew very well that I should get into trouble with James if it turned out that he was only carrying on as usual; while if what Mr. FitzHoward kept talking about was true, or anything like it, I should never forgive myself for leaving the least thing undone that I could do.

The end of it was that I was over-persuaded. He got me into such a state that I didn't dare to hold out any longer; and though I was trembling in my shoes to think I had the courage, I decided to go with him to see that Mr. Howarth. I gave the children their dinner--the roly-poly had to be put off to supper-time--I never had a chance to cook it. Mr. FitzHoward went away to have his dinner. I washed and tidied the children--they are pictures when they're tidy!--and took them round to Mrs. Ordish, to stop with her till I came back. She hasn't any of her own, and very glad she was to have them--as who wouldn't be? Then, when Mr. FitzHoward came back I was ready to start.

He would have a hansom cab. Simply, I believe, that he could keep on talking to me, and working of me up. Then, as we were getting near the house, he said:

'You understand? You're to go in, and I'm to wait outside. Then when I think you've had time to put your question, and receive a satisfactory explanation, if you don't appear I'll come in too. If between us we don't make him sit up I'll be surprised. I'll be even with him for setting that copper on me yesterday.'

I really do believe that that was at the bottom of it all; his wanting to be even, as he called it, with the gentleman for calling to the policeman. And at the last moment, if I'd dared, I'd have gone straight back then and there, and never have gone into the house at all. But that was more than I had courage for, having come all that way, with Mr. FitzHoward, and him saying all those things.

So I left him at the corner, and went to the number he'd told me of.

It wasn't a large house, quite the other way; I shouldn't have thought that an Earl's son would have lived in such a small one. The door was opened by a gentleman whom I at first took to be Mr. Howarth himself; but then supposed to be a servant--though he wasn't dressed like one, being just in evening clothes. He looked at me so that I wished right straight away that I'd never come.

'Mr. Howarth?' I just managed to get out.

'Mr. Howarth? Not at home. What name?'

I was stammering that it didn't matter, and was going to take myself away, and glad to get the chance of doing it, when a young lady came out of the side room into the pa.s.sage. She was quite the lady, though dressed as plain as plain could be, with not a sc.r.a.p of jewellery about her. When she saw me standing on the step, she said to the gentleman who had opened the door:

'Bartlett, who is this?'

'Wants to see Mr. Howarth, my lady.'

She came to the door and looked at me again.

'On what subject do you wish to see Mr. Howarth? I am his sister.'

The servant's calling her 'my lady' had sent me all of a twitter. So that when she spoke to me I felt that silly I could have bitten myself.

'If you please, miss, I want to speak to him.'

I could have scratched myself for calling her miss, she being my lady.

But she didn't seem to mind. She had another look at me, and then she said:

'Come in. Perhaps you can tell me on what subject you wish to speak to my brother.' I followed her into the room she had just come out of.

There was another lady in it; but, except that somehow I knew that she was older than the other, I didn't take any notice of what she was like. 'Now, is there any message which you can give me and which I can deliver to my brother?'

She looked at me so straight, and with such an odd something in her eyes, that I grew more confused than ever.

'If you please, miss, I mean my lady, I only wanted to ask him what he's done with my husband.'

'You only wanted to ask him what?'

'What he's done with my husband.'

I had to put my handkerchief up to my eyes. But it was as much rage as anything; through my feeling such a fool, and, no doubt, looking one.

The young lady glanced at the other. I knew what she was thinking, and small blame to her; I could have boxed Mr. FitzHoward's ears for getting me into such a mess.

'I don't understand you. Who are you? And what has my brother to do with your husband?'

'If you please, miss, I mean my lady, my name's Merrett; but my husband's known as Mr. Montagu Babbacombe. He's the famous Mr. Montagu Babbacombe.'

I've a sort of suspicion that the young lady smiled.

'The famous Mr. Montagu Babbacombe? I am afraid that his fame has not reached me. And what has my brother to do with Mr. Babbacombe?'

'That's what I want to know.'

'Where is your husband?'

'I want to know that too.'

'Do you mean that he's left home?'

'I haven't seen or heard of him since he went out last Sunday week to see your brother.'

'To see my brother? How do you know that he went to see my brother?'

'He had an interview at the York Hotel with your brother, who called himself Mr. John Smith.'

'My brother called himself Mr. John Smith?'

'Yes, my lady; and yesterday when Mr. FitzHoward saw him in Piccadilly----'

'Who's Mr. FitzHoward?'

'My husband's business manager. He went up to him and asked him what he'd been doing with my husband. And he was so struck all of a heap, and went on in such a way, that Mr. FitzHoward felt sure that he'd been doing something he didn't ought to. Then he found out that his name wasn't Smith at all, but Howarth; so he brought me here to ask what he's been doing to my James.'