“Mr. Ducaine,” she exclaimed, “have you seen anything of Lord Blenavon to-day?”

I shook my head.

“I have not seen him for several days, Lady Angela,” I answered.

Ray said something to her which I could not hear.  She nodded and left us together.

“It seems,” he said, “that this amiable young gentleman is more or less in the clutches of our siren friend at Braster Grange.  I think that you and I had better go and dig him out.”

“Thank you,” I answered, “but I had all I wanted of Braster Grange last night.”

“Pooh!” he answered lightly, “you are not even scratched.  They are clumsy conspirators there.  I think that you and I are a match for them.  Come along!”

“You must excuse me, Colonel Ray,” I said, “but I have no desire to visit Braster Grange, even with you.”

Lady Angela, whose crossing the hall had been noiseless, suddenly interposed.

“You are quite right, Mr. Ducaine,” she said; “but this is no visit of courtesy, is it?  I am sure that my brother would never stay there voluntarily.  Something must have happened to him.”

“We will go and see,” Ray declared.  “Come along, Ducaine.”

I hesitated, but a glance from Lady Angela settled the matter.  For another such I would have walked into hell.  Ray and I started off together, and I was not long before I spoke of the things which were in my mind.

“Colonel Ray,” I said, “when I saw you this morning you made two statements, both of which were false.”

Ray brought out his pipe and began to fill it in leisurely fashion.

“Go on,” he said.  “What were they?”

“The first was that you had come down from London by the newspaper train this morning, and the second was that you had received your injuries in a hansom cab accident.”

His pipe was started, and he puffed out dense volumes of smoke with an air of keen enjoyment.

“Worst of having a woman for your hostess,” he remarked, “one can’t smoke except a sickly cigarette or two.  You should take to a pipe, Ducaine.”

“Will you be good enough to explain those two misstatements, Colonel Ray?”

“Lies, both of them!” he answered, with grim cheerfulness.  “Rotten lies, and I hate telling ’em.  The hansom cab accident must have sounded a bit thin.”

“It did,” I assured him.

He removed his pipe from his teeth, and pushed down the tobacco with the end of his finger.

“I came down from town by the same train that you did,” he said, “and as for my broken head and smashed arm, you did it yourself.”

“I imagined so,” I answered.  “Perhaps you will admit that you owe me some explanation.”  He laughed, a deep bass laugh, and looked down at me with a gleam of humour in his black eyes.

“Come,” he said, “I think that the boot is on the other leg.  My head is exceedingly painful and my leg is very stiff.  For a young man of your build you have a most surprising muscle.”