as he came in that
the dining-room door was ajar.

"There is, Sir Charles. Twelve fifteen," replied the man, who recognized
him instantly, for everybody knew Charles.

"I am here as Mr. Dare's friend, at his wish. Tell Mr. Dare's coachman
to bring round his dog-cart to the door in good time to catch that
train. Will it take luggage?"

"Yes, Sir Charles," with respectful alacrity.

"Good! And when the dog-cart appears you will see that the boxes are
brought down belonging to the person who is staying here, who will leave
by that train."

"Yes, Sir Charles."

"If the policeman from Slumberleigh should arrive while I am here, ask
him to wait."

"I will, Sir Charles."

"I don't suppose," thought Charles, "he will arrive, as I have not sent
for him; but, as the dining-room door happens to be ajar, it is just as
well to add a few artistic touches."

"Is this person in the drawing-room?" he continued aloud.

The man replied that she was in the dining-room, and Charles walked in
unannounced, and closed the door behind him.

He had at times, when any action of importance was on hand, a certain
cool decision of manner that seemed absolutely to ignore the possibility
of opposition, which formed a curious contrast with his usual careless
demeanor.

"Good-morning," he said, advancing to the fire. "I have no doubt that my
appearance at this early hour cannot be a surprise to you. You have, of
course, anticipated some visit of this kind for the last few days. Pray
finish your coffee. I am Sir Charles Danvers. I need hardly add that I
am justice of the peace in this county, and that I am here officially on
behalf of my friend, Mr. Dare."

The little woman, who had risen, and had then sat down again at his
entrance, eyed him steadily. There was a look in her dark bead-like eyes
which showed Charles why Dare had been unable to face her. The look,
determined, cunning, watchful, put him on his guard, and his manner
became a shade more unconcerned.

"Any friend of my husband's is welcome," she said.

"There is no question for the moment about your husband, though no doubt
a subject of peculiar interest to yourself. I was speaking of Mr. Dare."

She rose to her feet, as if unable to sit while he was standing.

"Mr. Dare is my husband," she said, with a little gesture of defiance,
tapping sharply on the table with a teaspoon she held in her hand.

Charles smiled blandly, and looked out of the window.

"There is eviden