Isbel stared at her. "But is it notoriously haunted?"

"Perhaps 'haunted' is a rather misleading term. Shall we say queer? There's a corridor there which is quite celebrated throughout the length and breadth of the kingdom-in psychic circles, it goes without saying. You must know it, since you've been there so many times?"

"Oh, yes-but if that's all, it's not much."

"Not to you, my dear, for you take no interest in such matters, but to anyone who is interested in another world the smallest clue is deeply engrossing. Possibly you have never lost anyone who is very, very dear to you? I have."

"And that's the true reason why I'm to be forced to do something I don't want? Excuse my scepticism, Mrs. Richborough, but you've been rattling out different explanations at the rate of sixty miles an hour for the last ten minutes. I'm not sure whether there are more to come."

The widow threw her a hostile glance. "Such as what?"

"That's what I don't know, and what I am wondering."

"You seem to suggest a personal motive?"

"I suggest nothing at all, but it's very funny…How long have you really know Mr. Judge?"

"Exactly a fortnight to-morrow, my dear. You see, there's no question of intimacy between us."

"What is the extent of his fortune, really? I've never heard."

Mrs. Richborough showed her long, but beautifully white teeth, in a smile. "Has he one? He has that house, of course…I confess I've never heard whether he's rich or poor, and, to tell the truth, it doesn't worry me in the slightest. I'm afraid I'm a dreadfully unmercenary creature; I choose my friends for their distinction of character, and not at all for their money-bags. I've never had anything to do with money, and I hate the very mention of it."

"Then how do you contrive to live?" asked Isbel bluntly.

"Oh, one has an income, of course…still, one leaves all that to one's banker. The great art of living happily, my dear, is to cut your coat according to your stuff…Now, it's getting late-what about to-morrow?"

"I suppose I shall have to say 'Yes,' since you're so very persuasive."

"I felt sure you would relent eventually."

"On condition that the whole thing is kept quiet."

Mrs. Richborough reassured her with effusiveness.

"It had better be in the morning," said Isbel, cutting her short somewhat contemptuously.

"I was going to suggest it. I'm so glad you can fit in-I know how horribly tied you girls are. They call it a free country, yet a girl is a perfect slave to her little circle…Now, will you come over to Worthing by the same train as before? Come straight along to the Metropole, and ask for me. The car will be waiting, and we can start at once-just the three of us."

"How do you know that Mr. Judge will be sufficiently recovered to come?"

"Oh, he will be. There's nothing seriously wrong with him, my dear. I shall pack him off to bed early, and see that he gets a real good night's rest."

Isbel stood up. "He's evidently in good hands."

"Any woman would do that much for him. It would be abominable to leave him to the mercies of the hotel staff." Mrs. Richborough also ascended to ther perpendicular position-a floating mass of soft furs…"You don't wish me to convey a personal message?"

"Oh, say I'm sorry he's unwell, and that the other matter is all right."

She extended her hand, which the widow hastened to grasp warmly. The latter even raised her veil and pushed her face forward, but this was too much for Isbel, who deliberately ignored the invitation. Mrs. Richborough, recognising her faux pas, made all speed to cover it up:

"I hear you're to be married, my dear?"

"Oh, yes…Who told you?"

"Mr. Judge hinted at it…I'm so glad!"

"Thanks! But I wish he'd leave my private affairs alone."

"He's so isolated, and had so little to talk about."

"He has no right to discuss me. I don't like it."

"My dear, it was only the shadow of a hint-perhaps not even that. Perhaps he said nothing at all, and it was merely my intuition…Well, then, good-bye till to-morrow. By the way, if you would care to dash off a few lines to him, I have paper and a fountain pen."

Isbel declined, thinking the offer rather strange. They separated, to go their respective ways.

Five minutes later, as she passed along the now nearly deserted parade towards the hotel, she whipped a hairpin out of her hair, and, halting for a moment, compared it carefully with that which Judge had sent her. They were identical in size and shape…She returned them both to her hair.

Chapter XIII THE LUNCH AT THE METROPOLE

It had been raining heavily, but the sky was rapidly clearing and there were great tracts of blue everywhere as Isbel mounted the steps of the Metropole Hotel at Worthing shortly after noon on the following day. She had been unable to escape from her aunt in time to catch the earlier train, but to compensate for this she was free to spend the whole day as she pleased. By a lucky chance, Mrs. Moor was compelled to go up to town on business.

Judge was waiting in the porch. He grasped her hand warmly, preventing her apologies.

"It was very good of you to come at all, Miss Loment. As far as we are concerned, the time is of no importance. Mrs. Richborough will be here immediately."

Even as he spoke, the widow appeared. Her tall and lovely form was attired as usual in the rich, soft furs and velvets which she so much affected. She moved charmingly, and her grace-fully swaying waist was that of a quite young woman, but Isbel no sooner saw the angular, witchlike face than her old feelings of repugnance and distrust returned.

As it was so late, an early lunch at the hotel was agreed upon, before starting. They passed into the restaurant. Here Isbel received an unpleasant shock. She recognised and was recognised by a girl acquaintance belonging to her particular set-Louie Lassells, who probably was more intimate with Blanche, Marshall, and the rest than with her own relations.

Louie was lunching with a couple of youngsters of the subaltern type; she seemed in the highest spirits, and champagne was already on the table. She pledged Isbel in a glass from the other side of the room. Presently she came over to her, her dark, bold, handsome, gypsy-like face looked very flushed and defiantly gay.

"So this is where you get to!" she began, throwing a single critical glance towards Mrs. Richborough and Judge.

"I'm not the only one, it appears," retaliated Isbel. She laid down her knife and fork, and looked up calmly. "You're having a high old time, obviously."

"Rather! We're making a day of it. Sorry I can't introduce you, but we're all here incog. I'm supposed to be in Regent Street at this blessed minute."

"Bravo! I'm supposed to be in Brighton. We'd better draw up a deed."

Louie laughed immoderately. "What shall we drink it in?" Her eye roved round the table. "What are you drinking? Only Burgundy?…I say…"-she bent to whisper-"you're not having much of a time, are you? Where did you dig them up?"

Mrs. Richborough unluckily overheard.

"Surely I know your face?" she remarked graciously to Louie, who still held on to the edge of the table. "Your name is just hovering on the tip of my tongue."

The girl smiled vaguely, without even looking at her. "One sees so many people. It's going to turn out a quite charming day, I think…Well, ta-ta, Isbel! No manner of use asking you to join us, of course?"

"You see, I can't."

Louie trod lightly back to her impatient squires, while Isbel watched with some amusement Mrs. Richborough's efforts to regain her composure.

"She seems a pleasant girl," remarked Judge.

"Is she a very close friend of yours?" inquired the widow of Isbel, returning, however, to her plate.