certain if the invalid wanted anything. Generally,
however, the old gentleman slept well, hence there had been no
necessity for a night nurse.

When I entered the cab, and the man having taken a seat beside me, we
had set out on our long night drive to Kew, I endeavoured to obtain
more details regarding the Courtenay _menage_. In an ordinary way I
could scarcely have questioned a servant regarding his master and
mistress, but on this drive I saw an occasion to obtain knowledge, and
seized it.

Short, although a well-trained servant, was communicative. The shock
he had sustained in discovering his master made him so.

After ten years' service he was devoted to his master, but from the
remarks he let drop during our drive I detected that he entertained a
strong dislike of the old gentleman's young wife. He was, of course,
well aware of my affection for Ethelwynn, and carefully concealed his
antipathy towards her, an antipathy which I somehow felt convinced
existed. He regarded both sisters with equal mistrust.

"Does your mistress often remain in town with her friends at night?"

"Sometimes, when she goes to balls."

"And is that often?"

"Not very often."

"And didn't the old gentleman know of his wife's absence?"

"Sometimes. He used to ask me whether Mrs. Courtenay was at home, and
then I was bound to tell the truth."

By his own admission then, this man Short had informed the invalid of
his wife's frequent absences. He was an informer, and as such most
probably the enemy of both Mary and Ethelwynn. I knew him to be the
confidential servant of the old gentleman, but had not before
suspected him of tale-telling. Without doubt Mrs. Courtenay's recent
neglect had sorely grieved the old gentleman. He doted upon her,
indulged her in every whim and fancy and, like many an aged husband
who has a smart young wife, dared not to differ from her or complain
of any of her actions. There is a deal of truth in the adage, "There's
no fool like an old fool."

But the mystery was increasing, and as we drove together down that
long interminable high road through Hammersmith to Chiswick, wet, dark
and silent at that hour, I reflected that the strange presage of
insecurity which had so long oppressed me was actually being
fulfilled. Ambler Jevons had laughed at it. But would he laugh now?
To-morrow, without doubt, he would be working at the mystery in the
interests of justice. To try to keep the affair out of the Press
woul