The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK TM(247)

                And as Loveday answered with decision “Alone,” the little woman had no choice but to withdraw, wondering once more over the vagaries of lady detectives.

                Half an hour afterwards the doctor, a clever-looking, active little man, led the way into the library where Mr. Golding was seated.

                Loveday was greatly shocked at the change which a few days’ illness had wrought in him. His chair was drawn close to the window, and the autumn sunshine that filled the room threw into pitiful relief his shrunken frame and pallid face, aged now by about a dozen years. His eyes were closed, his head was bent low on his breast, and he did not lift it as the door opened.

                “You need not remain,” said Dr. Godwin to the nurse, who rose as they entered; and Loveday and the doctor were left alone with the patient.

                Loveday drew near softly. “I am going back to town this evening, and have come to say good-bye,” she said, extending her hand.

                Mr. Golding opened his eyes, staring vaguely at the extended hand. “To say good-bye!” he repeated, in a dreamy, far-away tone.

                “I am Miss Brooke,” Loveday explained. “I came down from London to investigate the strange circumstances connected with your daughter’s disappearance.”

                “My daughter’s disappearance!” He started and began to tremble violently.

                The doctor had his hand on his patient’s pulse now.

                “I have conducted my investigations under somewhat disadvantageous circumstances,” Loveday went on quietly, “and, for a time, with but little result. A few days back, however, I received important information from Lord Guilleroy, and to-day I have seen and communicated with him. In fact, it was his carriage that brought me to your house this afternoon.”



                             “Lord Guilleroy!” repeated Mr. Golding slowly. His voice had a more natural ring in it; recollection, although, perhaps, a painful one, seemed to sound in it.

                “Yes. He said he would wander about the park until I had seen and prepared you for his visit. Ah! there he is coming up the drive.”

                Here she drew back the curtain that half draped the open window.

                This window commanded a good view of the drive, with its overarching elms, that led from the lodge gates to the house. Along that drive two persons were advancing at that moment in leisurely fashion; one of those two was undoubtedly Lord Guilleroy, the other was a tall, graceful girl, dressed in deep mourning.

                Mr. Golding’s eyes followed Loveday’s at first with a blank, expressionless stare. Then, little by little, that stare changed into a look of intelligence and recognition. His face grew ashen white, then a wave of colour swept over it.

                “Lord Guilleroy, yes,” he said, panting and struggling for breath. “But—but who is that walking with him? Tell me, tell me quickly, for the love of Heaven!”

                He tried to rise to his feet, but his limbs failed him. The doctor poured out a cordial, and put it to his lips.

                “Drink this, please,” he said. “Now tell him quickly,” he whispered to Loveday.

                “That young lady,” she resumed calmly, “is your daughter René. She drove up with me and Lord Guilleroy from Langford Cross. Shall I ask her to come in and see you? She is only waiting for Dr. Godwin’s permission to do so.”

                Time to grant or refuse that permission, however, was not accorded to Dr. Godwin. René—a sadder, sweeter-faced René than the one who had so impetuously discarded home and father—now stood outside in the “half-sun, half-shade” of the verandah, and had caught the sound of Loveday’s last words.