nocking so long upon his door
took vaulting precedence of any flesh and blood. In the good man's
eyes this stranger, Anthony Lyveden, had earned and must be accorded
the privileges of the dead.

Directly he reached his hotel he sat down at his bed-room table and
indited a letter.

_1st March, 1921._

_My DEAR VALERIE,_

_I am, as you see, in London._

_Till an hour ago I was on my way to you. Now I must leave again for
Rome to-morrow morning._

_By accident there has come to me the knowledge of a grievous wrong,
for which I am largely responsible. This, mercifully, it may be in my
power to repair. To attempt to do so, however, necessitates my
immediate return in quest of a paper which none but I can procure._

_You can guess, my dear, how very much distressed I am that I must keep
you waiting, but, if I told you the case, you would be the first to
hale me to the station._

_I shall return straightway to England--that is, so soon as my years
permit--and, all being well, I shall be here again one week from
to-day, and with you at Bell Hammer one week from to-morrow._

_You did not tell me the nature of your trouble, so that I can offer no
counsel; if, as I suspect, it concerns the man of whom you have already
written to me, remember, for what it is worth, that my faith in him has
never wavered from the moment you told me that he had won your love._

_Your affectionate uncle,
JOHN FOREST._

To the prelate, who framed it, that letter was the best he could do: to
Miss Valerie French, who received it, it was a great disappointment:
and to an eminent brain-specialist, who had never heard of it, it was
worth exactly three guineas.

* * * * *

"I should have come to you before," said Valerie, "but I was expecting
my uncle, and wanted to ask his advice before I took such a step. But
now he's delayed, and I can't wait any longer."

Sir Willoughby Sperm leaned forward and picked up a pen.

"One moment," he said, taking a sheet from a drawer. "Now then. What
is the patient's name?"

"Major Anthony Lyveden, D.S.O.," said Valerie. "L-Y-V-E-D-E-N."

The name was entered.

"Yes. Address?"

Valerie hesitated. Then--

"Gramarye, Chipping Norton," she said.

The address went down.

"Age?"

"I think about thirty."

"Wounded?"

"Not that I know of."

"When did you see him last?"

"Eleven days ago."

"And before that?"

"Not for three months."

"And his