g him to go out into the rain, but she
could not risk giving displeasure to her husband by inviting 'Arry to
stay.

He came again at half-past eight. Mutimer had been home nearly an hour
and was expecting him. 'Arry lost no time in coming to the point.

'He's married that other woman, I could see that much. Go and see for
yourself. She give me 'alf-a-crown to tell all about him. I'm only
afraid he's got off by this time.'

'Why didn't you go and give information to the police at once?' Mutimer
cried, in exasperation.

'Arry might have replied that he had a delicacy in waiting upon those
gentlemen. But his brother did not stay for an answer. Rushing from the
room, he equipped himself instantly with hat, coat, and umbrella.

'Show me the way to that house. Come along, there's no time to lose.
Adela!' he called, 'I have to go out; can't say when I shall be back.
Don't sit up if I'm late.'

A hansom bore the brothers southwards as fast as hansom could go.

They found Clara in the house, a haggard, frenzied woman. Already she
had been to the police, but they were not inclined to hurry matters;
she had no satisfactory evidence to give them. To Mutimer, when he had
explained his position, she told everything--of her marriage in London
nine years ago, her going with her husband to America, his desertion of
her. Richard took her at once to the police-station. They would have to
attend at the court next morning to swear an information.

By ten o'clock Mutimer was at Waterloo, taking train for Wimbledon. At
Rodman's house he found darkness, but a little ringing brought Alice
herself to the door. She thought it was her husband, and, on recognising
Richard, all but dropped with fear; only some ill news could explain his
coming thus. With difficulty he induced her to go into a room out of the
hall. She was in her dressing-gown, her long beautiful hair in disorder,
her pretty face white and distorted.

'What is it, Dick? what is it, Dick?' she kept repeating mechanically,
with inarticulate moanings between. She had forgotten her enmity against
her brother and spoke to him as in the old days. He, too, was all
kindness.

'Try and keep quiet a little, Alice. I want to talk to you. Yes, it's
about your husband, my poor girl; but there's nothing to be frightened
at. He's gone away, that's all. I want you to come to London with me.'

She had no more control over herself than a terrified child; her words
and cries were so incohe