—Fenella—my life may be of value to them, if it is little to me."
A hard faced, showily dressed woman of about forty came to the door, looked him sharply up and down, and before he could speak exclaimed:
"Oh, you're the gent, are you?"
"What do you mean? Yes, I am the gentleman who was to come here by appointment."
"Then you're too late," said the woman sourly. "She's gone."
"She—has—gone?" faltered Onslow. "The appointment was at four o'clock. It is not ten minutes past."
"I can't help that. She came back in a hurry in a cab, fetched her bag, and she's gone."
"But the—the lady—is coming back?"
"Not likely. If you came you was to be shown into the room she took. Want to wait?"
"No," said Onslow shortly, as a strange suspicion flashed through his brain, and he turned and hurried away.
Had Lucille been saved, and was this some fresh scheme on her part, some fresh web spinning to entangle him and keep him and Fenella apart?
He shivered slightly as he walked sharply away, feeling that he must by an accident have escaped from some new peril; and as he walked rapidly on through the crowded streets he saw nothing but the face of his fair young wife gazing
