"The affair is very serious," commented the detective on leaving
me. "That's our excuse for any trouble we may be putting you to."
I clutched my uncle's arm.

"Where shall we go?" I asked. "The drawing-room is too large. In
this hall my eyes are for ever traveling in the direction of the
alcove. Don't you know some little room? Oh, what, what can he
want of me?"

"Nothing serious, nothing important," blustered my good uncle.
"Some triviality such as you can answer in a moment. A little
room? Yes, I know one, there, under the stairs. Come, I will find
the door for you. Why did we ever come to this wretched ball?"

I had no answer for this. Why, indeed!

My uncle, who is a very patient man, guided me to the place he
had picked out, without adding a word to the ejaculation in which
he had just allowed his impatience to expend itself. But once
seated within, and out of the range of peering eyes and listening
ears, he allowed a sigh to escape him which expressed the
fullness of his agitation.

"My dear," he began, and stopped. "I feel--" here he again came
to a pause--"that you should know--"

"What?" I managed to ask.

"That I do not like Mr. Durand and--that others do not like him."