“But it is hardly an hour since I spoke to my father at Mr. Theydon’s flat,” she said.  “Were you there, too, Mr. Handyside?”

“No, in the next block.  That was the nearest I got to Mr. Theydon before we met and took a cab for Victoria.”

Theydon was pleased with his ally.  No diplomat, trained during long years to conceal material facts, could have headed the girl off more deftly, while every word was literally true.

“Ah!” she said, glancing meaningly at Theydon, “we are all the sport of fortune, then.  How strange!  Of course, Mr. Theydon, you don’t know why I am here.  I have had a telegram from my mother, or one sent in her name.  She has been taken ill suddenly.”

“That is bad news,” was the sympathetic answer.  “If the message has not come direct from Mrs. Forbes may it not be rather exaggerated in tone?  Some people can never write telegrams.  The knowledge that each word costs a halfpenny weighs on them like a nightmare.”

As he hoped and anticipated, she produced the message itself from her handbag.

“This is what it says,” she said, and read:  “’Mrs. Forbes ill and unable communicate by telephone.  Come at once.  Manager Royal Devonshire Hotel.’” Then she added, with a suspicious break in her voice:  “That sounds serious enough, in all conscience.”

“Is it addressed to you personally?” said Theydon, racking his wits for some means of lessening the girl’s foreboding without tickling the ears of the other people in the compartment by suggesting that she might have been brought from her home by some cruel ruse of her father’s enemies.

“Yes.”

“But isn’t that somewhat singular in itself?  One would imagine that such a significant message would have been sent to your father.”

“Why?”

“Well, men are better fitted to withstand these shocks, for one thing.  It was heartless, or, to say the least, thoughtless, to give you such news with the brutal frankness of a telegram.”

“I cannot understand it at all.  Mother wrote this morning telling me that she was going to Beachy Head this afternoon with a picnic party,”

“I am convinced,” said Theydon gravely, “that some one has blundered.  It may be the act of some stupid foreigner.  I shall not be content now, Miss Forbes, until I have gone with you to the Royal Devonshire, and learnt what the extent of the trouble really is.  Then, if Mrs. Forbes needs your presence, perhaps you will allow me to telephone to your father, as he will be greatly disturbed when he returns home and learns the cause of your journey.”

“But I can’t think of allowing you two to break up your afternoon on my account.  I’m sure, when we reach Eastbourne, I shall see an array of golf clubs among your luggage.”

“No,” smiled Theydon.  “My friend here refuses to play until he has seen something of the country.  He knows that the golfer’s vision is bounded by the nearest bunker.”