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“Eleanor, Eleanor, I’m so glad you’ve come. I’m nearly sick with misery. They quarreled, Eleanor, they quarreled——” her voice caught in a sob—the door slammed shut.

The two men glanced at each other, their eyes asked the same question. Who quarreled?

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A SLIGHT sound behind him caused Douglas to wheel swiftly around. A pretty woman, with astonishment written largely in her round eyes, stood regarding the two men. She was carrying a handbag.

“Whom do you wish to see?” asked Brett sharply.

“No one, Monsieur,” replied Annette, her accent denoting her nationality. “I am Miss Thornton’s maid.”

Douglas started. “Eleanor—Miss Thornton!” Was it possible that she could mean the Eleanor Thornton he used to know?

“I am taking her bag to her room as she is spending the night here,” added the servant.

“Indeed.” Brett inspected her keenly. “When did Miss Thornton enter the house?”

“A few minutes ago, Monsieur,” vaguely. “Joshua showed Mademoiselle in while I stopped a moment to speak with the chauffeur, and he left the front door open so that I could enter.”