“Got the hump, an’ pretty bad,” soliloquized the man.  “Gimme a bob over the fare, an’ all, so can’t be stony.  But Lord love a duck, you never can tell!”

Theydon was about to unlock the door of his flat when it opened in his face, and his sister nearly collided with him.  She screamed slightly, a certain quality of alarm in her exclamation merging instantly into joyful recognition.

“So you have come home!” she cried.  “My goodness!  What a fright you’ve given me!”

“Why?” he said, with a reassuring and brotherly hug.

“I’ve had horrid dreams.  I couldn’t rest all last night for thinking of you.”

“Is George absent?” George was her husband, a consulting engineer, whose professional duties often took him to distant parts of the country.

“Yes.”

“Then you and Miss Beale have been living on tea and scraps.  Really, Mollie, I credited you with more sense.  Tell me what you ate last night, and I’ll diagnose your dreams.”

“We dined at a first-class restaurant in the West End,” said Mrs. Paxton indignantly.  “It would be much more to the point if you explained how you have been living the past few days.  I have not been so worried about anything since George was trapped in that horrid mine.”

Mollie was on the verge of tears.  Her brother resolved instantly to minimize matters, or she would fret more than ever on his account.

“Now, look here, old girl,” he said, meeting her critical glance steadily.  “Miss Beale has been putting absurd notions into that stylish little head of yours.  By the way, is that the latest thing in hats?  It suits you admirably.”

Mrs. Paxton smiled, though her eyes were glistening suspiciously.

“You can’t humbug me, Frank, so please don’t try,” she protested.  “Why are you mixed up in this dreadful business?  Why are you constantly meeting detectives?  Why did you rush off to Eastbourne yesterday?  When did you become acquainted with this Mr. Forbes?  Have you seen his daughter?”

Theydon was at least sufficiently well versed in the peculiarities of the feminine temperament to know that he would, be safe in answering the last question first.

“Yes,” he said.  “I have seen a good deal of Miss Forbes recently.  Have you ever met her?”

“She was at the horse show last year with Lady de Winton’s party.  She’s an awfully pretty girl, and will be worth millions, I suppose.  Some one said that young de Winton was simply crazy about her, but he looks such a sloppy youth that I could hardly imagine those two getting married.  Of course, there’s the title, yet a title is not everything.”

Young de Winton!  Theydon had not even been aware hitherto of the existence of a marriageable scion of that noble house.

“That particular young spark has not been in evidence during the past few days at any rate,” he commented, and his voice was not so nonchalant as he imagined, because Mrs. Paxton looked up quickly.