erning his old friends;
but about himself, his wife, nothing had been gleaned. Mrs. Loveredge
was well; Mrs. Loveredge's relations were also well. But at present Mrs.
Loveredge was not receiving.

Members of the Autolycus Club with time upon their hands took up the
business of private detectives. Mrs. Loveredge turned out to be a
handsome, well-dressed lady of about thirty, as Peter Hope had desired.
At eleven in the morning, Mrs. Loveredge shopped in the neighbourhood of
the Hampstead Road. In the afternoon, Mrs. Loveredge, in a hired
carriage, would slowly promenade the Park, looking, it was noticed, with
intense interest at the occupants of other carriages as they passed, but
evidently having no acquaintances among them. The carriage, as a general
rule, would call at Joey's office at five, and Mr. and Mrs. Loveredge
would drive home. Jack Herring, as the oldest friend, urged by the other
members, took the bull by the horns and called boldly. On neither
occasion was Mrs. Loveredge at home.

"I'm damned if I go again!" said Jack. "She was in the second time, I
know. I watched her into the house. Confound the stuck-up pair of
them!"

Bewilderment gave place to indignation. Now and again Joey would creep,
a mental shadow of his former self, into the Club where once every member
would have risen with a smile to greet him. They gave him curt answers
and turned away from him. Peter Hope one afternoon found him there
alone, standing with his hands in his pockets looking out of window.
Peter was fifty, so he said, maybe a little older; men of forty were to
him mere boys. So Peter, who hated mysteries, stepped forward with a
determined air and clapped Joey on the shoulder.

"I want to know, Joey," said Peter, "I want to know whether I am to go on
liking you, or whether I've got to think poorly of you. Out with it."

Joey turned to him a face so full of misery that Peter's heart was
touched. "You can't tell how wretched it makes me," said Joey. "I
didn't know it was possible to feel so uncomfortable as I have felt
during these last three months."

"It's the wife, I suppose?" suggested Peter.

"She's a dear girl. She only has one fault."

"It's a pretty big one," returned Peter. "I should try and break her of
it if I were you."

"Break her of it!" cried the little man. "You might as well advise me to
break a brick wall with my head. I had no idea what they were like. I
never dreamt it."

"But w