d Chris had a mill yesterday, and the old lady is suffering
from a very stiff neck in consequence. I asked Chris what she did to it,
but she wouldn't tell me. Thank the gods, she goes to-morrow! You'll let
me drive her to the station, won't you? I should like to go to heaven in
Aunt Phil's company. She would be sure to get into the smartest set at
once."

He rattled on in the same cheery strain without intermission throughout
the return journey, having imparted enough to make Mordaunt thoroughly
uneasy, notwithstanding Holmes's assurance.

The first person he met upon entering the house was Aunt Philippa. She
accorded him a glacial reception, and explained that Chris had retired to
bed with a severe headache.

"It's come on very suddenly," remarked Noel, with frank incredulity.
"Where's Bertrand? Has he got a headache too?"

Aunt Philippa had no information to offer with regard to the French
secretary! She merely observed that she had given orders for dinner
to be served in a quarter of an hour, and therewith swept away to the
drawing-room.

Mordaunt shook off his young brother-in-law without ceremony, and went
straight up to his wife's room.

His low knock elicited no reply, and he opened the door softly and
entered.

The room was in semi-darkness, but Chris's voice accosted him instantly.

"Is that you, Trevor? I'm here, lying down. I had rather a headache, or I
would have come to meet you."

Her words were rapid and sounded feverish, as though she were braced for
some ordeal. She was lying with her back to the curtained windows and her
face in shadow.

Mordaunt went forward with light tread to the bed. "Poor child!" he said
gently.

He stooped and kissed her, and found that she was trembling. Quietly he
took her hand into his, and began to feel her pulse.

She made a nervous movement to frustrate him, but he gently insisted and
she became passive.

"There is nothing serious the matter," she said uneasily. "I--I didn't
sleep very well last night, that's all. I thought you wouldn't mind if I
didn't come to meet you."

Mordaunt, with the tell-tale, fluttering pulse under his fingers, made
gentle reply. "Of course not, dear. I think you are quite right to take
care of yourself. Is your head very bad?"

"No, not now. I think I'm just tired. I shall be all right after a
night's rest."

Again she tried to slip her hand out of his grasp, and after a moment he
let it go.

"Please don't worry about me,"