“Not now,” came the quick answer.  “I have been.  It has come to me here, in the darkness.  I know why she is angry, I know why she will not speak to me.  It is—­because I failed.”

Wingrave laughed, and moved towards the lights.

“We have had enough of this tomfoolery,” he said scornfully.  “If you won’t listen to reason—­”

He never finished his sentence.  He had stumbled suddenly against a soft body, he had a momentary impression of a white, vicious face, of eyes blazing with insane fury.  Quick to act, he struck—­but before his hand descended, he had felt the tearing of his shirt, the sharp, keen pain in his chest, the swimming of his senses.  Yet even then he struck again with passionate anger, and his assailant went down amongst the chairs with a dull, sickening crash!

Then there was silence in the room.  Wingrave made an effort to drag himself a yard or two towards the bell, but collapsed hopelessly.  Richardson, in a few moments, staggered to his feet.

He groped his way to the side of the wall, and found the knobs of the electric lights.  He turned two on and looked around him.  Wingrave was lying a few yards off, with a small red stain upon his shirt front.  His face was ghastly pale, and he was breathing thickly.  The young man looked at him for several moments, and then made his way to the side table where the sandwiches were.  One by one he took them from the dish, and ate deliberately.  When he had finished, he made his way once more towards where Wingrave lay.  But before he reached the spot, he stopped short.  Something on the wall had attracted his attention.  He put his hand to his head and thought for a moment.  It was an idea—­a glorious idea.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Lady Ruth’s maid stepped back and surveyed her mistress ecstatically.

“Milady,” she declared, “has never, no never, appeared more charming.  The gown, it is divine—­and the coiffure!  Milady will have no rivals.”

Lady Ruth looked at herself long and earnestly in the glass.  Her face reflected none of the pleased interest with which her maid was still regarding her.  The latter grew a little anxious.

“Milady thinks herself a trifle pale, perhaps—­a little more color?”

Lady Ruth set down the glass.

“No, thank you, Annette,” she answered.  “I shall do very well, I suppose.  Certainly, I won’t have any rouge.”

“Milady knows very well what becomes her,” the woman answered discreetly.  “The pallor, it is the more distinguished.  Milady cannot fail to have all the success she desires!”

Lady Ruth smiled a little wearily.  And at that moment, there came a knock at the door.  A servant entered.

“Someone wishes to speak to your ladyship on the telephone,” the girl announced.

“On the telephone, at this time of night?” Lady Ruth exclaimed.  “Ridiculous!  They must send a message, whoever they are!”