occasion after he had left I found her crying in secret. He was mean and unkind to her. Now that I recollect, I remember that Lydia did say she had received a letter from her, therefore she might be able to give you some information."
And with that I took my leave, thanking her, and returned to London.
Could Lydia Moreton furnish any information? If so, I might find this girl whose photograph had aroused the irate jealousy of the mysterious unknown.
The ten o'clock Edinburgh express from King's Cross next morning took me up to Doncaster, and hiring a musty old fly at the station, I drove three miles out of the town on the Rotherham Road, finding Whiston Grange to be a beautiful old Elizabethan mansion in the centre of a great park, with tall old twisted chimneys and beautifully-kept gardens.
When I descended at the door and rang, the footman was not aware whether Miss Lydia was in. He looked at me somewhat suspiciously, I thought, until I gave my card and impressed upon him meaningly that I had come from London purposely to see his young mistress upon a very important matter.
"Tell her," I said, "that I wish to see her regarding her friend, Miss Elma Heath."
"Miss Elma 'Eath," repeated the man. "Very well, sir. Will you walk this way?"
And then I followed him across the big old oak-panelled ball, filled with trophies of the chase and
