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Soon after lunch they had to part, for Mr. Attwood had ordered the car for three o’clock; but before leaving her at her hotel Tony arranged to see Pamela next morning and look at the pendant. “And I must see Mrs. Taylor too, of course,” he added.

“I suppose you must. Oh, Tony, do you think she’ll be very suspicious?”

“I’m afraid she will. It’s only natural, you know, you told her you knew no one here! I’ll try to look a thoroughly respectable young man. Till I get hold of that gew-gaw of yours I won’t spring any of this yarn on Attwood—no, I haven’t time to wait while you get it, dear. I shall have to scratch gravel to get the car ready as it is, and he doesn’t like being kept waiting. Silly of him, isn’t it?”

“Tony, it does seem awfully funny that you should be—should have to———”

“Do as I’m told? It doesn’t strike me as out-of-the-way. I’ve always had to, more or less. You’ll see how I’m going to bully my wife to make up for it! Good-bye, then.”

He went down the street with long, swift strides, and Pamela felt stronger for the strength she saw in him. “Though he must have been dreadfully ill,” she thought. Nevertheless she climbed the stairs to her room with a light heart; all would go well now, there was no more need to worry . . . if only she could feel quite positive that he had not had the idea of getting her back to Trent Stoke in his mind! . . . Ah, well, he had assured her he had not meant