At that moment it seemed to her that yonder strange man was the centre around which everything in the landscape was moving, and that she herself was no more than his dream!…

And then Henry's face was crossed by an expression of sickness; he changed colour; she caught a faint groan, and directly afterwards he sank helplessly to the ground, where he continued lying quite still…she stood paralysed, staring in horror…

The sunlight vanished instantaneously. Everything was grey and cold again, the sky was leaden; she saw nothing but driving rain-mists…She rubbed her eyes with her knuckes, wondering what had occurred, how she came to be standing there, as in a dream, why she felt so sick and troubled?…

Then she quietly fainted where she stood.

Chapter XX MARSHALL'S JOURNEY

On arriving at Lloyd's at ten o'clock on the same morning, Marshall found among his letters a typewritten envelope of uncommercial size and shape. Out of curiosity, he opened it the first. The communication enclosed was typed on small, feminine notepaper, and was neither addressed nor signed. It was, in fact, anonymous. Before reading it, he turned again to the envelope, to inspect the postmark. It was stamped Worthing. The only person he could think of as staying at Worthing was Judge.

He read the following words:

"If Mr. Stokes is interested to know how Miss L-spends her time during his temporary absences, it might be as well for him to inquire at Runhill court. There is every reason to believe that she will be there to-morrow (Friday) morning before lunch, for the third time this week, and he may consider the matter of sufficient importance to justify his presence there on the same occasion. Should it not be before lunch, it may be after. It is believed that there are rooms in the house which are not easy to discover."

Marshall carefully folded the letter, and deposited it in his pocket-cast. Then he sat back, and began to slowly pass his hand over his eyes and forehead.

His first impulse was to ignore the whole business, destroy the note, and say nothing about it to Isbel or anyone else. To start testing the accuracy of a charge, of which, naturally, he did not believe a single word, would be equivalent to admitting that there might be a possibility of truth in it, and that would be a ghastly insult to Isbel…

But then there was the question of libel. Some ill-disposed person-probably a woman-was evidently bent on mischief, and it was doubtful how far she would go if no counter-action was taken. The thing obviously was to find out, in the first place, who wrote the letter. The police were out of the question, and private inquiry agents were not much better; he did not intend to have her name bandied about by these professional gentlemen. She herself was the only one who might be ale to throw light on the business. He would show her the letter that same evening when he went down to Brighton, and they would talk it over together. A person who was prepared to go to that criminal length did not spring out of empty space-Isbel would have a tolerable idea who it was, and why she, or he, had done it…

Of course, spite was at the bottom of it. But what he could not quite see through was the explicit character of the charge. Where was the sense of quoting time and place, when the writer must be aware that any action taken on the statement would expose the whole damned lie? Probably it was a bit of low cunning. It was thought that he would not take action, an that the poison would continue to rankle in his mind…That seemed all right as far as he could see. And in that case he was not at all sure that it might not be good policy to make the move he was not expected to make. Of course, before going to Runhill, to see what game was on foot, he would look Isbel up at Brighton, and very likely take her with him.

He made hurried arrangements with his deputy to carry on during his absence, and immediately afterwards left for Victoria.

It was not long after noon when he arrived at the Gondy Hotel. Mrs. Moor gave an exclamation of surprise when she saw him.

"Good gracious, Marshall!-what can this mean?"

He told a story of having met a man…"Where's Isbel?" he added quickly.

Isbel, it seemed, had been out for two hours, and Mrs. Moor had no idea where she was.

In a very decomposed manner, Marshall muttered something about returning later in the day. He took his departure abruptly-almost rudely. She could not think what had come over him. Probably it was some business worry.

Meanwhile Marshall, with a face which grew sterner each minute, sought his car in the hotel garage. While it was being got out, he produced and lit a cigar. He wished t assure himself that his feelings were tranquil, and that the visit to Runhill he was about to make was a quite ordinary, matter-of-fact transaction, of no special consequence, and undertaken merely as a piece of necessary routine work…Perhaps he really did not see, perhaps he did not wish to see, that it can never be an ordinary transaction to test a woman's honour…

He got in, turned up the collar of his rainproof coat, pulled down his crushed-in hat, and started off. It was a quarter to one. He pushed the car along fast to Shoreham, but, once past the houses, he let her go altogether…In just over the half hour he reached Runhill Lodge.

Priday appeared.

Marshall got down…"Good afternoon! Is there anyone up at the house?" He had returned the cigar-stump t his mouth when he had spoken.

"The boss is there, sir."

"Mr. Judge?"

"Ah."

"Anyone with him?" The keen glint of his eye, as he threw a side-glance, belied his indifferent tone.

"No, sir, he's by himself. He ain't been there much above half an hour."

Marshall remained silent for a minute.

"I'll walk up to him, I think."

"Shall I open the gate?"

"No, I said I'd walk up. The car's quite all right where it is. Thank you, Priday."

He threw away his stump, passed through the side gate, and started slowly up the drive, with bent head. Priday, after gazing after him for a short time, disappeared again inside the lodge. The dismal, wetting mist made it no sort of day to be out in.

As he approached the house, Marshall saw a small car standing outside the main entrance. It was evidently Judge's. When he came up to it, he leant over the side, to make a somewhat ashamed, but none the less careful scrutiny of the seats and floor. He hardly dared to confess himself what he feared to see there. It was with heartfelt relief that he failed to detect anything of a compromising character. He crossed to the house. The hall door was unlocked; he opened it, and went straight in.

The hall was grey, sombre, and silent. He wondered which would be the likeliest part of the house to start looking for Judge…Nine chances out of ten, he would be upstairs in his favourite lurking-spot-the East Room. It might be good sense to go there first…What did that damned correspondence mean by there being rooms hard to find?…Oh, hell! Isbel couldn't be there. Priday said no one was there except Judge…why the devil wsa he wasting precious timen mooning in the hall, when he ought by now to be up at the top of the house?…

He made for the main staircase and raced up, three steps at a time. Without pausing on the landing, he immediately attacked the upper flight, and in less than a minute was groping his way through the black darkness of the upstairs corridor.

He saw at once that the door of the East Room was standing open. Upon getting closer he saw something else. A man was lying, huddled and motionless, on the floor, near one of the walls. It required no flash of inspiration to guess that it was Judge-but what had happened to him? Was he asleep, fainting, or drunk?…He leapt over to him, and pulled his face round…then let go again in horror. The man was dead!…