Carpentaria ran up the stairs. If he had not had flame-coloured hair, and the fiery temper that goes with it, he would probably have pursued the more dignified course of calling Juliette down and interrogating her in privacy. But he was Carpentaria. She knew his moods, and she fled before him into a sitting-room, where Ilam, a dressing-gown covering his suit of Sunday black, reclined in an easy-chair by the side of a small table bearing an empty plate and a knife and fork.

She cowered down on the floor.

“Oh, Carlos!” she exclaimed under her breath.

Carpentaria made the obvious demand:

“What are you doing in this house, Juliette?”

There was a silence.

“Look here, Carpentaria,” Ilam began, rising a little in a chair.

“Silence!” cried Carpentaria angrily and threateningly.

And at the noise the great dog Neptune, pride of the Ilams, emerged from behind the chair and growled.

Juliette said at last:

“Mrs. Ilam told me that Jos—that Mr. Ilam was unwell, and so I—I came to see how he was. That’s all.”

“Really!” said Carpentaria. “Is that all? Your philanthropic interest in the sick and suffering, my girl, does you great credit. But as the invalid seems to be doing fairly well you’d better come home with me. I want to talk to you.”

Juliette gave a look of appeal to Ilam.

“I must tell him,” she whispered. “I must tell Carlos. Why did you want me to keep it a secret? Carlos, Mr. Ilam and I are engaged to be married. We love each other. We only want your consent, and Jos was afraid you mightn’t give it. He was afraid. We’ve been engaged three days now, haven’t we, Jos?”

“My consent!” Carpentaria shouted bitterly. “My consent!” His wrath was dreadful, and yet to a certain extent he was controlling himself. “I suppose,” he addressed Juliette, “it’s your love for this estimable gentleman that leads you out into the gardens of a night, and I suppose you take beautiful romantic moonlight strolls together. My consent! Ye gods!”

The dog continued to growl.

Juliette gathered herself together, and moved to Ilam’s chair, and Ilam took her hand protectively.

“My poor dear! Never mind!” murmured Ilam soothingly.

Genuine affection spoke in those tones uttered by the stout and otherwise grotesque Mr. Ilam. Love itself unmistakably appeared in the attitude of the pair as they clasped hands in front of Carpentaria’s fury. And Carpentaria could not but be struck by what he saw. It sobered him, puzzled him, diverted his thoughts.

“Come, Juliette,” he said in a quieter, more persuasive tone.

He turned to leave the room, and Juliette obediently followed. Allowing her to pass before him, he stopped an instant and threw a glance at Ilam.

“So they’ve been trying to poison you, Ilam.”

“Poison me!” repeated Ilam, plainly at a loss.

“Yes,” said Carpentaria with a sneer. “And you never have ham and eggs for breakfast. That’s the reason why that plate is streaked with yellow. You always have milk. Naturally, you eat it with a knife and fork. And you suspected the milk and gave some of it to Neptune, and he fell down dead. He looks dead, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Ilam said.

“You must ask mamma,” replied Carpentaria, departing.

He saw now with the utmost clearness that the aged Mrs. Ilam had been indulging him with some impromptu lying, invented, and clumsily invented, to put him off the scent, were it only for a few hours.

“She may be clumsy in her lying,” he thought as he descended the stairs in Juliette’s wake, “but she can act, the old woman can!”

He remembered that her acting had been perfect, and if Juliette had not happened to disclose the fact of her presence, the lying of Mrs. Ilam, clumsy as it was, might have succeeded. It is so easy to poison a dog, and to arrange the remains of poisoned milk.

He was capable of congratulating her on her acting, but she had utterly vanished from the ground-floor.

When he had deposited Juliette safely in his study, she began to cry softly. It was impossible for him to maintain his anger against her.

“Juliette,” he said, “why do you have secrets from me?”

“Oh, Carlos, he wished it to be kept secret. He said he had reasons; and I love him. No one has ever loved me before, and I’m thirty.”

“What about my affection?” asked Carpentaria.

“Oh, that’s different!” she cried.

Then he questioned her about Mrs. Ilam.

“I was at the kitchen window, preparing your milk, and the window was open, and Mrs. Ilam came up outside, and told me that Jos was unwell, and wanted to see me.”

“Did she touch the milk?”

“Touch the milk? No; why should she touch the milk?”

“Could she reach to touch the milk, supposing she had wished to?”

“I dare say she could. Yes, she could. But why?”

“Could you swear absolutely she didn’t?”

“I couldn’t swear; but I’m nearly sure. Carlos, what do you mean?”

“I’ll show you what I mean!” said Carpentaria.

He unlocked the bedroom door and led her to the balcony.