Jimmy had begun his restless pacing once more.  His hands were deep thrust in his trousers pockets, his head bent.  His heart seemed to be hammering in his throat as he tried not to listen to what Sangster was saying—­tried not to hear.

“Yes. . . .  Challoner—­Mrs. Challoner.  I only wondered if she had returned. . . .  Not yet—­oh. . . .  Yes. . . .  A wire. . . .  Yes. . . .”

There was a little silence; a tragic silence it seemed to Jimmy.  He was standing still now.  He felt as if his limbs had lost all power of movement.  His eyes were fixed on Sangster’s averted face.  After a moment Sangster hung up the receiver.

He did not turn at once; when, at last, he moved, it was very slowly.  He went across to Jimmy and laid a hand on his arm.  “She’s not there, old man; but . . . but there’s a wire from her—­she wired to the manager. . . .”  He paused.  He looked away from the agony in Jimmy’s eyes.  He tried twice to find his voice before he could go on, then: 

“She—­she’s not coming back to-night,” he said.  “The—­the wire was sent from—­from Oxford . . .”

And now the silence was like the silence of death.  Sangster held his breath.  He could feel the sudden rigidness of Jimmy Challoner’s arm beneath his hand.

Then Jimmy turned away and dropped into a chair by the table.  He fell forward with his face hidden in his outstretched arms.

“Oh, my God!” he said in a hoarse whisper.

It was so useless to try and offer any consolation.  Sangster stood looking at him with a suspicious moisture in his honest eyes.  Christine—­little Christine!  His heart felt as if it were breaking as he thought of her—­of her love for Jimmy—­of the first days of their engagement.  And now it was in vain that he tried to remember that Jimmy was to blame for it all.  He tried to harden his heart against him; but, somehow, he could not.  He went over to where he sat and laid a kind hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t give up yet, boy.”  At that moment he felt years older than his friend.  “There may be some mistake.  Don’t let’s give up till we’re sure—­quite sure——­”

Jimmy raised his face.  His lips were grey and pinched.

“It’s no use,” he said hopelessly.  “No use. . . .  Somehow I know it. . . .  Oh, my God!  If I could only have it over again—­just a day. . . .”  The anguish in his voice would have wrung a harder heart than Sangster’s.  For a moment there was unbroken silence in the room.  Then Jimmy struggled to his feet.

“I must go after her.  She won’t come back, I know.  But at least I can try. . . .  It may not be too late——­ Kettering—­damn him! . . .”  He broke off.  He stood for a moment swaying to and fro.

Sangster caught his arm.

“You’re not fit to go.  Let me. . . .  I’ll do all I can. . .  I give you my word of honour that I’ll move heaven and earth to find her.  And we may be mistaken.  We may. . . .”  He broke off.  Someone had knocked softly on the door.  For a moment neither of them answered, then the handle was softly turned, and Christine stood there on the threshold. . . .