‘Were you on Caester Hill this morning?’

‘I was.’

‘Did you meet Miss — a lady there?’

‘What � I did!’

‘Was it by appointment?’ Some sort of idea or half-recollection seemed to come to Leonard; he fumbled half consciously in his breast- pocket. Then he broke out angrily:

‘You have taken my letter!’

‘I know the answer to that question,’ said Harold slowly. ‘You showed me the letter yourself, and insisted on my reading it.’ Leonard’s heart began to quail. He seemed to have an instinctive dread of what was coming. Harold went on calmly and remorselessly: