He rattled on in the same cheery strain without intermission throughout the return journey, having imparted enough to make Mordaunt thoroughly uneasy, notwithstanding Holmes’s assurance.

The first person he met upon entering the house was Aunt Philippa.  She accorded him a glacial reception, and explained that Chris had retired to bed with a severe headache.

“It’s come on very suddenly,” remarked Noel, with frank incredulity.  “Where’s Bertrand?  Has he got a headache too?”

Aunt Philippa had no information to offer with regard to the French secretary!  She merely observed that she had given orders for dinner to be served in a quarter of an hour, and therewith swept away to the drawing-room.

Mordaunt shook off his young brother-in-law without ceremony, and went straight up to his wife’s room.

His low knock elicited no reply, and he opened the door softly and entered.

The room was in semi-darkness, but Chris’s voice accosted him instantly.

“Is that you, Trevor?  I’m here, lying down.  I had rather a headache, or I would have come to meet you.”

Her words were rapid and sounded feverish, as though she were braced for some ordeal.  She was lying with her back to the curtained windows and her face in shadow.

Mordaunt went forward with light tread to the bed.  “Poor child!” he said gently.

He stooped and kissed her, and found that she was trembling.  Quietly he took her hand into his, and began to feel her pulse.

She made a nervous movement to frustrate him, but he gently insisted and she became passive.

“There is nothing serious the matter,” she said uneasily.  “I—­I didn’t sleep very well last night, that’s all.  I thought you wouldn’t mind if I didn’t come to meet you.”

Mordaunt, with the tell-tale, fluttering pulse under his fingers, made gentle reply.  “Of course not, dear.  I think you are quite right to take care of yourself.  Is your head very bad?”

“No, not now.  I think I’m just tired.  I shall be all right after a night’s rest.”

Again she tried to slip her hand out of his grasp, and after a moment he let it go.

“Please don’t worry about me,” she said.  “You won’t, will you?”

“Not if there is really no reason for it,” he said.

She stirred restlessly.  “There isn’t—­indeed.  Aunt Philippa will tell you that.  I was letting off fireworks with Noel only last night.”

“And set fire to yourself,” said Mordaunt.

She started a little.  “Who told you that?”

“Noel.”

“Oh!  Well, nothing happened, thanks to—­to Bertie.  He put it out for me.”

“I think there had better not be any more fireworks unless I am there,” Mordaunt said.  “I don’t like to think of my wife running risks of that sort.”

“Very well, Trevor,” she said meekly.

“Where did the fireworks come from?” he pursued.