car. That's all I know, sir."

I was silent for a few moments. Who was this secret lover, I wondered?
The lad's statement had come as an amazing revelation to me.

"What kind of car was it?" I asked.

"A hired car, sir," replied the intelligent boy. "I've seen it here
before. It comes, I think, from a garage in Wardour Street."

"You would know the driver?"

"I think so, sir."

It was therefore instantly arranged that the lad should go with me
round to the garage, and there try to find the man who drove the grey
car on the previous night.

In this we were quickly successful. On entering the garage there
stood, muddy and dirty, a big grey landaulette, which the boy at once
identified as the one in which Sylvia had escaped. The driver was soon
found, and he explained that it was true he had been engaged on the
previous night by a tall, clean-shaven gentleman to pick up at the
Coliseum. He did so, and the gentleman entered with a lady.

"Where did you drive them?" I asked quickly.

"Up the Great North Road--to the George Hotel at Stamford, about a
hundred miles from London. I've only been back about a couple of
hours, sir."

"The George at Stamford!" I echoed, for I knew the hotel, a quiet,
old-fashioned, comfortable place much patronized by motorists to and
fro on the north road.

"You didn't stay there?"

"Only just to get a drink and fill up with petrol. I wanted to get
back. The lady and gentleman were evidently expected, and seemed in a
great hurry."

"Why?"

"Well, near Alconbury the engine was misfiring a little, and I stopped
to open the bonnet. When I did so, the lady put her head out of the
window, highly excited, and asked how long we were likely to be
delayed. I told her; then I heard her say to the gentleman, 'If they
are away before we reach there, what shall we do?'"

"Then they were on their way to meet somebody or other--eh?"

"Ah! that I don't know, sir. I drew up in the yard of the hotel, and
they both got out. The lady hurried in, while the gentleman paid me,
and gave me something for myself. It was then nearly four o'clock in
the morning. I should have been back earlier, only I had a puncture
the other side of Hatfield, and had to put on the 'Stepney.'"

"I must go to Stamford," I said decisively. Then I put something into
his palm, as well as into that of the page-boy, and, entering a taxi,
drove back home.

An hour later I sat beside my own chauffeur, as we drove through the