ed drawing
room.

CHAPTER 8

BAD NEWS

The journey on which Helen and Mr. Palsey had set out was a very long
one indeed and May though it was the night was very chilly.

Helen shivered as she got into the train and drew her shawl round her.
Mr. Palsey had taken first class tickets, and so soothing was the motion
of the train and so comfortable the seat in which she found herself that
Helen soon dropped asleep.

"Now I can think over things a bit," said Mr. Palsey taking some papers
from a black bag by his side, "jolly nice of Gladys to suggest me coming
up here, though she didn't know why I wanted to come poor girl; odd that
I didn't hear from Sheene today, I quite expected a line or a telegram
to say how matters stand. It may here be mentioned that Mr. Palsey and
Cyril Sheene were by no means new acquaintances and had met many times
in London and even once or twice before in Kenalham.

"Odd how Cyril found out about that secret shelf mused Mr. Palsey "a
whole bag of gold he said, how Winston saved it I dont know, ah he was a
rich man with all his poor living and scanty furniture. I think there
were some jewils in the safe too but of course it is the money, the gold
I'm putting myself to this for and with a cold laugh, he drew out some
closely written papers and read them eagerly, putting pencil marks by
certain paragraphs in the document.

The train flew on nearing Warwick rapidly.

At last Helen awoke with a start and found Mr. Palsey taking forty winks
opposite her.

She rubbed her eyes and looked out of the window, "how dark it is" she
thought and its raining too, how horrible and she nestled under her
fluffy shawl. Presently the train stopped with a jerk and Mr. Palsey
woke up.

"This is Warwick" he said picking up his bag "train's late and it is
twenty to twelve.

"How late" quoth Helen and with a sigh she followed Mr. Palsey on to the
crowded platform.

It was a dreary sight which met the weary girl's eyes. The rain was
pouring heavily and the whole station looked wet and miserable. The gas
lights flickered in the wind making hideous shadows on the walls. The
porters, cold and cross looking, poor things, were bustling about,
crying the name of the station at the tops of their voices, and a thin
shaggy dog, evidently lost, was howling pitiably, tending by no means to
cheer poor Helen's quaking heart.

"I thought Cyril would be sure to meet you" said Mr. Palsey suddenly
"you go into the w