My Dear Austen,

I send you a hurried line in case you should be thinking of coming down here.  I have decided to come up to London for a few weeks, and have lent the Court to Lady Mary, with the exception of the shooting, which is reserved for you.  If you are in town, do look me up at Claridge’s.

    Ever yours,

    Ralph.

I was on the point of having the cab unloaded and reconsidering my plans.  Suddenly, however, like an inspiration there flashed into my mind the thought that it would not, perhaps, be such a very bad thing if, under the circumstances, I kept my altered plans to myself.  So I stuffed the letter into my pocket and stepped into the four-wheeler.

“You understand, Ashley?” I said.  “Send everything on to Feltham Court,—­cards, letters, or anything.”

“Perfectly, sir,” the man answered.  “I hope you will have a pleasant time, sir.”

“Tell the cabman Liverpool Street,” I ordered, and got in.

We rolled out of the courtyard, and I drove all the way to Liverpool Street as though to catch my train.  Arrived there, however, I deposited my luggage in the cloak-room and drove back to Claridge’s in a hansom.  I found that my brother was installed in a suite of rooms there, and his servant, who came into the sitting-room to me at once, told me that he believed they were up for at least a month.

“His Lordship has nearly finished dressing, sir,” he added.  “He will be in, in a few minutes.”

I took up the morning paper, but found nothing of interest there.  Then my brother came in, leaning heavily on two sticks, and moving slowly.  He was not more than ten years older than I was, but the shock of his accident and subsequent sufferings had aged him terribly.  His hair had gone prematurely gray, and his face was deeply lined.  I stepped forward and took him by the hand.

“My dear Ralph,” I said, “this is really first-class.  The last time I saw you, you scarcely expected to be out of your bath-chair in six months.”

“I am getting on, Austen,” he answered, “thanks!  I am getting on.  I will sit in that easy-chair for a few minutes.  Thanks!  Then we will have some breakfast.”

“I was starting for Feltham this morning,” I told him, “when I got your letter.”

“When did you get back from Paris?” he asked.

“Three or four days ago,” I answered.

He raised his eyebrows.

“I know that I ought to have come at once,” I said, “but there were several things in London.  I found it hard to get away.”

“Well?” he said.

“I met Tapilow face to face at a little French cafe,” I told him.  “They tell me that he will recover, but he is maimed and scarred for life.”

My brother showed no excitement—­scarcely, even, any interest in my information.  His face, however, had darkened.

“I am glad that you did not kill him outright,” he said.  “Tell me, are you likely to get into any trouble for this?”