At this moment the train drew up at Shotley Beauchamp, and a smiling groom opened the door and enquired if I were for The Towers. Item Number Five was accordingly deleted from my catalogue of woes. Two minutes later Items One to Four slipped silently away into the limbo of those things that do not matter. A girl was sitting in the brougham outside the station.
"Lady goin' up, too, sir," remarked the groom into my ear. "Her maid," he added, "is in the dogcart. You got a man, sir?"
"No."
The groom touched his hat and departed, doubtless to comfort the maid.
I paused at the carriage-door, and by means of a terrifying cough intimated that I, too, had been invited to The Towers, and, although a stranger and unintroduced, begged leave in the humblest manner possible to assert my right to a seat in the brougham.
I was greeted with a friendly smile.
"Come in! I expect you are Mr. Carmyle."
I admitted guardedly that this was so, and proceeded to install myself in that part of the brougham not already occupied by the lady's hat.
"My name is Constance Damer," said my companion, as the brougham started. "Perhaps you have heard of me?"
"No," I replied, "I have not."