while she is here and they need never know that it is not her own." "Thank you. That is just what I should wish." "What do you think Mrs. Crichton had better be called?" Cyril thought a moment. "Mrs. Peter Thompkins, and I will become Mr. Thompkins. Please address all communications to me under that name; otherwise the truth is sure to leak out." "But how will you arrange to get your mail?" "Peter Thompkins is my valet, so that is quite simple." "Very well. Good-bye, Mr. Thompkins. I trust I shall soon have a better report to give you of Mrs. Thompkins." A moment later Cyril was in a taxi speeding towards Mayfair, a free man--for the moment. CHAPTER III THE TRIBULATIONS OF A LIAR While Crichton was dressing he glanced from time to time at his valet. Peter had evidently been deeply shocked by the incident at the railway station, for the blunt profile, so persistently presented to him, was austerely remote as well as subtly disapproving. Cyril was fond of the old man, who had been his father's servant and had known him almost from his infancy. He felt that he owed him some explanation, particularly as he had without consulting him made use of his name. But what should he say to him? Never before had he so fully realised the joy, the comfort, the dignity of truth. It was not a virtue he decided; it was a privilege. If he ever got out of the hole he was in, he meant to wallow in it for the future. That happy time seemed, however, still far distant. Believing the girl to be innocent, he wanted as few people as possible to know the nature of the cloud which hung over her. Peter's loyalty, he knew, he could count on, that had been often and fully proved; but his discretion was another matter. Peter was no actor. If he had anything to conceal, even his silence became so portentous of mystery that it could not fail to arouse the curiosity of the most unsuspicious. No, he must think of some simple story which would satisfy Peter as to the propriety of his conduct and yet which, if it leaked out, would not be to the girl's discredit. "You must have been surprised to hear me give my name to the young lady you saw at the station," he began tentatively. "Yes, sir." Peter's expression relaxed. "Her story is a very sad one." So much at any rate must be true, thought poor Cyril with some satisfaction. "Yes, sir." Peter was waiting breathlessly for the sequel. "I don't feel at liberty to repeat what she told me. You understand that, don't you?" "Certainly, sir," agreed Peter, but his face fell. "So all I can tell you is that she was escaping from a brute who horribly ill-treated her. Of course I offered to help her." "Of course," echoed Peter. "Unfortunately she was taken ill before she had told me her name or who the friends were with whom she was seeking refuge. 

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