"From which I assume that you don't propose to acquaint the others with the details of this romantic affair?"

"I'm not a sneak. You ought to know me better than that."

Isbel gnawed away at her finger-nails.

"I came here to try and help you," went on Blanche. "It's not very encouraging to find myself treated as an interfering busybody."

"Oh, don't imagine I'm not grateful to you. It isn't everyone who would undertake such an unpalatable duty-I quite see that…Perhaps I should have been even more grateful to you for a little loyal backing up, but I see your point of view perfectly. I've no right to expect other people to behave as quixotically as I should have done under similar circumstances. Every woman must act according to her nature."

"It will be time enough to show sympathy when I know it's wanted."

"And deserved. Don't spare me, I beg."

Blanche sat down slowly on the sofa. After a minute she impulsively seized her friend's hand.

"Billy, swear there's nothing between you and that man, and I'll believe you. I don't think you could tell me a direct lie. Up to the present we've always shared each other's secrets."

"I do swear that I haven't the faintest notion how that scarf got out of my possession, or into his. I'm as utterly mystified as you are."

"Sure?"

"Quite sure," said Isbel, colouring and smiling.

"Very well; that's all I wanted to hear. As long as it's all right on your side, his conduct is of quite secondary importance. I'm more relieved than I can tell you…But you'll have to get it back, by fair means or foul."

"I'll think it over to-night in bed."

Blanche gazed at her steadily, still holding her hand.

"If I were you, I should drop the acquaintance altogether. You won't derive much good from a man like that."

"You mean, give up the idea of his house?"

"There are plenty of other houses. Have you told your aunt yet about his change of decision?"

"No."

"That's good. Don't…Dash a line off to Judge to say it's all over. And you can mention about the scarf at the same time. Say you understand it's in his possession, and beg him to return it at once…You could almost do it now, before dinner."

"No, there isn't time," replied Isbel. And she found no time the whole of the evening.

In bed, the same night, she tossed for hours, tormenting her brain over the events of the day. As often as she had satisfactorily assured herself of the impossibility of her having given that scarf personally to Judge, the whole problem would break open again, like a badly-bandaged wound, and she would find herself once more searching in vain in all directions for some escape from the necessity of accepting this awful, unthinkable hypothesis.

Her thoughts travelled round and round in circles, and relief came to her at last only in absolute physical exhaustion.

Chapter XI ISBEL VISITS WORTHING

Immediately after the departure of Blanche and Roger next morning, Isbel-attired in an old, though still serviceable, tweed walking costume, with stout, low-heeled shoes-announced her intention of taking a long tramp on the downs by herself; she might, or might not, be back for lunch. It was the only programme she could think of in which her aunt would be certain not to offer to participate. Mrs. Moor, of course, raised some half-hearted objections-that was more in the nature of a ritual between the two ladies-but in the end Isbel got her way, and before ten o'clock she was out of the hotel. Not en route to the downs, however. At the top of Preston Street she caught a bus to Hove Station, and, on arriving there, purchased a ticket to Worthing.

The train was a little overdue. Not many people were travelling, and she was able to secure an empty first-class compartment. Her first action was to fling down both windows for the atmosphere was suffocating close; it was one of those heavy, sluggish, overcast, depressing mornings which are the sure forerunners of steady rain. As they ran into Worthing, a few spots already began to gather on the left-hand side windows.

She found Judge waiting for her at the Parade end of South Street. He was smartly clad, had his hands behind him, and was gazing idly, yet with dignity, at the outside shelves of a book-dealer's shop. No one could have guessed from his manner that he was there by appointment. When she touched him lightly on the arm, his start of surprise nearly deceived herself into imagining that the meeting was accidental; but then she remembered her own caution to him.

"I am the one you're waiting for, I hope?" she asked, with a smile.

He replaced his hat. "I would have come to the station, but your instructions were definite."

"Then let's get on to the front. It's going to rain, isn't it?"

"I fear so-and you have no protection."

"I've nothing on to spoil."

They crossed the road to the Parade, and started to walk in the direction of the Burlington. There were a few people abroad, and certainly no one she knew, yet the mere fact that she was in a strange town, strolling with a strange man, had a peculiarly exciting effect upon her nerves. Everyone they passed seemed to be regarding her with suspicion.

"You didn't mind meeting me here this morning, Mr. Judge?"

"Just the reverse, Miss Loment. I regard it as a great honour."

"It's nothing very dreadful. I just wanted to talk things over."

"I quite understand." But he looked rather puzzled.

She waited till some approaching women had met and passed. "First of all, Mr. Judge-did you find my scarf?"

"Yes; it's in my pocket, and you shall have it when we separate. I've made a small parcel of it."

"Where was it found, then?"

He hesitated. "In a very queer resting-place, I'm afraid. On getting home last evening I found it reposing neatly folded in my breast-pocket."

"I see."

"Doubtless a practical joke on someone's part-a kind of joke, I must admit, I don't much care about."

"You mean Roger, I suppose? I don't think he would have done it. Couldn't you have placed it there yourself in a fit of abstraction?"

"No, that is entirely out of the question. I think we must call it a joke."

There was an interval of silence, and then she turned to him quietly:

"Mr. Judge…"

"Yes, Miss Loment?"

"When you disappeared yesterday afternoon, where were you?"

"Surely I have explained that?"

"I don't blame you for giving an untrue account of your movements, because, of course, you had to say something. But you'll tell me the truth now, won't you?"

"But, really!…"

"You did go up those stairs, didn't you?"

Judge gave her a swift sidelong glance. "What stairs?"

"That strange staircase leading out of the East Room."

"Mr. Marshall Stokes told you, then?"

"Please leave him out of it. My information is first-hand."

It now came on to rain more sharply, and they were forced to take refuge in an adjacent shelter, which luckily proved to be vacant. They sat facing the sea. Judge rested both hands on his gold-headed stick, and stared straight before him.

"Yet I distinctly gathered that you have never personally visited that room, Miss Loment?"

"Nor have I. Your house has more mysteries than you are aware of, Mr. Judge. The hall also has its staircase."

"What staircase?" He frowned. "I don't quite know how to take this."

"Not only have I seen it with my own eyes, but I have twice set foot on it-once being yesterday afternoon. I want you to believe that I am being quite serious, and not fabricating in the least."

"Yesterday afternoon?"

"Five minutes after you had all gone upstairs."

"Could you describe them-those stairs?"

"The were plain, narrow, wooden stairs, going up through an opening in the wall; no handrail. The top was out of sight."