only one place was laid at the round table, also that Madeleine had just
finished her luncheon.

"Isn't Claire here?" he asked, surprised. "She said she was going to
lunch with you to-day. Hasn't she been here this morning?"

"No--I mean yes." Madeleine spoke confusedly. "She did not stay to
lunch. She was only here for a very little while."

"But has she gone home again?"

"Well--she may be home by now; I really don't know"--Madeleine was
opening the door of the little drawing-room.

It was an ugly, common-looking room; the walls were hung with Turkey
red, and ornamented with cheap coloured prints. There were cane and
basket chairs which Madame Baudoin had striven to make comfortable with
the help of cushions and rugs.

Jacques de Wissant told himself that it was odd that Claire should like
to spend so much of her time here, in the Chalet des Dunes, instead of
asking her sister to join her each morning or afternoon in her own
beautiful house on the cliff.

"Forgive me," he said stiffly, "but I can't stay a moment. I really came
for Claire. You say I shall find her at home?"

He held his top hat and his yellow gloves in his hand, and his
sister-in-law thought she had never seen Jacques look so plain and
unattractive, and--and tiresome as he looked to-day.

Madame Baudoin had a special reason for wishing him away; but she knew
the slow, sure workings of his mind. If Jacques found that his wife had
not gone back to the Pavillon de Wissant, and that there was no news of
her there, he would almost certainly come back to the Chalet des Dunes
for further information.

"No," she said reluctantly, "Claire has not gone back to the Pavillon. I
believe that she has gone into the town. She had something important
that she wished to do there."

She looked so troubled, so--so uncomfortable that Jacques de Wissant
leapt to the sudden conclusion that the tidings he had been at such
pains to bring had already been brought to the Chalet des Dunes.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "then I am too late! Ill news travels fast."

"Ill news?" Madeleine repeated affrightedly. "Is anything the matter?
Has anything happened to one of the children? Don't keep me in suspense,
Jacques. I am not cold-blooded--like you!"

"The children are all right," he said shortly. "But there has been, as
you evidently know, an accident. The submarine _Neptune_ has met with a
serious mishap. She now lies with her crew in eighteen fathoms of water
about two m