“I think,” she said abruptly, “that they are all coming down here in a few days.  I heard from my father this morning.”

I sighed.

“I have been very unfortunate, Lady Angela,” I said.  “Your father is displeased with me.  I think that but for Colonel Ray I should have been dismissed yesterday.”

“Is it about—­the Prince of Malors?” she asked in a low tone.

“Partly.  I was forced to tell what I knew.”  She hesitated for a moment, then she turned impulsively toward me.

“You were right to tell them, Mr. Ducaine,” she said.  “I have hated myself ever since the other night when I seemed to side against you.  There are things going on about us which I cannot fathom, and sometimes I have fears, terrible fears.  But your course at least is a clear one.  Don’t let yourself be turned aside by any one.  My father has prejudices which might lead him into grievous errors.  Trust Colonel Ray—­no one else.  Yours is a dangerous position, but it is a splendid one.  It means a career and independence.  If there should come a time even—­”

She broke off abruptly in her speech.  I could see that she was agitated, and I thought that I knew the cause.

“Lady Angela,” I said slowly, “would it not be possible for you and Colonel Ray to persuade Lord Blenavon to go abroad?”

She swayed for a moment as though she would have fallen, and her eyes looked at me full of fear.

“You think—­that it would be better?”

“I do.”

“It would break my father’s heart,” she murmured, “if ever he could be brought to believe it.”

“The more reason why Lord Blenavon should go,” I said.  “He is set between dangerous influences here.  Lady Angela, can you tell me where your brother was last night?”

“How should I?” she answered slowly.  “He tells me nothing.”

“He was not at home?”

“He dined at home.  I think that he went out afterwards.”

I nodded.

“And if he returned at all,” I said, “I think you will find that it was after three o’clock.”

She came a little nearer to me, although indeed we were in a spot where there was no danger of being overheard.’

“What do you know about it?”

“Am I not right?” I asked.

“He did not return at all,” she answered.  “He is not home yet.”

I had believed from the first that Blenavon was one of my two assailants.  Now I was sure of it.

“When he does come back,” I remarked grimly, “you may find him more or less damaged.”

“Mr. Ducaine,” she said, “you must explain yourself.”

I saw no reason why I should not do so.  I told her the story of my early morning adventure.  She listened with quivering lips.

“You were not hurt, then?” she asked eagerly.

“I was not hurt,” I assured her.  “I was fortunate.”

“Tell me what measures you are taking,” she begged.