e world? A little cruel I call
it--yes, Millie, a little cruel."

"Stella wasn't cruel," said Lady Splay.

"She wasn't," Hillyard agreed. "I know why she wrote that. She wrote it
to strengthen her hand and will at the last moment. The message was
sent, the announcement of her death would be published in the morning,
was already in print. Just that knowledge would serve as the final
compulsion to do what she wished to do. She wrote lest her courage and
nerve should at the last moment fail her, as to my knowledge they had
failed her before."

"Before!" cried Millie. "She had tried before! Oh, poor woman!"

"Yes," said Hillyard, and he told them all of the vague but very real
fear which had once driven him into Surrey in chase of her; of her
bedroom with the bed unslept in and the lights still burning in the
blaze of a summer morning; of herself sitting all night at her
writing-table, making dashes and figures upon the notepaper and unable
to steel herself to the last dreadful act.

Martin Hillyard gave no reason for her misery upon that occasion, nor
did any one think to inquire. He just told the story from his heart, and
therefore with a great simplicity of words. There was not one of those
who heard him, but was moved.

"Yet there were perhaps a couple of hours in her life more grim and
horrible than any in that long night," he went on, "the hours between
ten o'clock and midnight yesterday."

"Ah, but we don't know how they were spent," began Sir Chichester.

"We know something," returned Martin gravely. "I told you that that
letter was corroborated before the paragraph it contained was inserted
in the paper."

"Yes," said Lady Splay.

"Whilst they were waiting for the news from France, which did not come,
they rang you up from the _Harpoon_ office. Yes: they rang up Rackham
Park."

Harry Luttrell snatched up the letter once more from the table. Yes,
there across the left-hand corner was printed Sir Chichester's telephone
number and the district exchange.

"They were answered by a woman. Of that there's no doubt. And the woman
assured them that Stella Croyle was dead. This was at a quarter-past
twelve."

There was a movement of horror about the table, and then, with dry lips,
Millie Splay whispered:

"Stella!"

"Yes. It must have been," answered Hillyard. "Oh, she had thought out
her plan to its last detail. She knew the letter might not be enough.
So, whilst we were all dancing at Harrel, she sat a