The next day Lawrence Cardiff went to the Age office and had the good fortune to see Mr. Rattray, who was flattered to answer questions regarding Miss Bell’s whereabouts, put by any one he knew to be a friend.  Mr. Rattray undertook to apologize for their not hearing of the scheme, it had matured so suddenly.  Miss Bell couldn’t really have had time to do more than pack and start; in fact, there had been only three days in which to make all the arrangements.  And of course the facts were confidential, but there was no reason why Miss Bell’s friends should not be in the secret.  Then Mr. Rattray imparted the facts, with a certain conscious gratification.  There had been difficulties, but the difficulties had been surmounted, and he had heard from Miss Bell that morning that everything was going perfectly, and she was getting hold of magnificent copy.  He was only sorry it wouldn’t be quite suitable for serial publication in the Age; but, as Professor Cardiff was doubtless aware, the British public were kittle cattle to shoe behind, and he hardly thought the Age could handle it.

“Oh yes,” Mr. Cardiff replied absently.  “Cheynemouth, I think you said—­for the next five days.  Thanks.  Successful?  I dare say.  The idea is certainly a novel one.  Good-morning!” and he left the sub-editor of the Illustrated Age in a state of some uncertainty as to the wisdom of having disclosed so much.  Half an hour later, when Kendal, who knew Rattray fairly well, called and asked him for Miss Bell’s present address, he got it with some reluctance and fewer details.

Cardiff drove to his club, and wrote a note to Janet, asking her to send his portmanteau to the 3.45 train at Euston, as he intended to run down to Cheynemouth and might stay over night He fastened up the envelope, then after a moment’s hesitation tore it open and added, “Miss Bell is attempting a preposterous thing.  I am going to see if it cannot be prevented.”  He fancied Janet would understand his not caring to go into particulars in the meantime.  It was because of his aversion to going into particulars that he sent the note and lunched at the club, instead of driving home as he had abundance of time to do.  Janet would have to be content with that; it would be bad enough to have to explain Rattray’s intolerable “scheme” to her when it had been frustrated.  After luncheon he went into the smoking-room and read through three leading articles with an occasional inkling of their meaning.  At the end of the third he became convinced of the absurdity of trying to fix his attention upon anything, and smoked his next Havana with his eyes upon the toe of his boot, in profound meditation.  An observant person might have noticed that he passed his hand once or twice lightly, mechanically, over the top of his head; but even an observant person would hardly have connected the action with Mr. Cardiff’s latent idea that although his hair might be tinged in a damaging way there was still a good deal of it.  Three o’clock found him standing at the club window with his hands in his pockets, and the firm-set lips of a man who has made up his mind, looking unseeingly into the street.  At a quarter past he was driving to the station in a hansom, smiling at the rosette on the horse’s head, which happened to be a white one.