"What on earth are you doing in the works?" she asked, curiously.
"My poor concerns will keep, Miss Frenton." A charming smile robbed the words of any offence. "I don't think it was to discuss me that you came to-night. My note, I suppose. Am I to be rebuked?"
"No," she answered, slowly. "I am to be enlightened, please."
"Have you spoken to Strongley about it?" he asked, after a pause.
She raised her eyebrows.
"I asked Mr. Strongley what was the matter with the men, after lunch to-day."
"I stand corrected." With an expressionless face John Morrison held out a heavy silver cigarette box to her, but she shook her head.
"No, thank you," she said curtly, and he replaced the box on the table. "But please smoke yourself, if you want to."
"And what did Mr. Strongley say?" asked the man.
"Nothing." She stared at the fire with a little frown. "He didn't seem to know: but he said he'd find out and ring me up. He hasn't done so, and I want to know, Mr. Morrison—know the truth. There's something radically wrong down there. What is it?"