"Yes. What man won't get mad if he notices that his best girl is thinking
about a rival."

This time Doris did not blush. She was troubled and serious, very
serious.

"I'll do what I can," she promised. "When shall I see you again?"

"Soon. There's no hurry. All this is preparatory for Wednesday."

"Am I to tell my father nothing?"

"Please yourself. Not at present. I recommend you."

The car had stopped. It sped on when Doris alighted. She would be home
with her cakes at three o'clock, and Mr. Martin would never have noticed
her absence.

"A fine bit of work, if I may say so," exclaimed Fowler appreciatively.
"But I am jiggered if I can imagine what you're driving at."

Winter was cutting the end off a big cigar. He finished the operation to
his liking before answering earnestly:

"We stand or fall by the result of that girl's efforts. Furneaux
thinks so, and I agree with him absolutely. After five days, where are
we, Mr. Fowler? In the dark, plus a brigand's hat and hair. But there's
a queer belief in some parts of England that a phosphorescent gleam
shows at night over a deep pool in which a dead body lies. That's just