"Dear, dear!"

"People who will talk tomorrow morning."

"What, the chatty-at-breakfast-kind. How dreadful."

"If you wish to stop them, there is only one way."

"Yes--tell me. Always believed they were incurable."

Auriole shut her hands tight and spoke with difficulty.

"Tony, I don't know how real your affections are for this girl, but I know this. If you refuse to answer our questions your chance of marrying her is worth--nothing. Understand? Nothing."

And all at once Richard became serious.

"Will that please you?" he asked.

"Perhaps."

"I don't think so. I don't think it will please you, really."

"What do you mean?"

"You're too good a sort to enjoy spreading rotten fables about people who are in love with one another."

She echoed the words "too good a sort" rather faintly.

"Yes. I suppose you--you're jealous or something--angry because my feelings have changed. I understand that--it's natural, and I don't defend myself, you know. It's natural you should want to hurt me, but aren't you choosing rather a rotten way of doing it, 'cos you're hurting an innocent girl into the bargain. It's way down below your form to side up with these men who are against me--isn't it, now? As a friend, I'd drop out of this deal--clean out--it--it's not up to your standard."

"Why do you say this to me?"

"Because I like you too well to a.s.sociate you with----"

"You like me?"

"Yes."

"Still?"

"Not still," he answered, truthfully, "but now."

She was silent for a long while, then she shook her head.

"No good, Tony. It wouldn't make any difference if I dropped out. I know it's beastly, but that can't be helped. They mean to have their answer, whatever happens."

"They've come to the wrong house to get it," said Richard and he folded his arms very heroically.

"You refuse to speak?"

"I do."

"Mr. Van Diest would pay you--enormously."

"Course he would."

"Twenty per cent after exploitation and a million down."

It was a staggering proposition, but Richard preserved his calm and remarked humorously:

"I'll take it in copper, please."

Auriole sprang to her feet and put her hands on his shoulders. Her face was lovelier at close range. A faint and delightful perfume came to his nostrils, her eyes burned brightly and the scarlet mouth, with its moist trembling lower lip, was an exquisite invitation. This indeed was a very woman, he thought, a striking contrast to the small and wistful Doreen. With sudden intuition he realised he had but to open his arms and she would enter--willingly, anxiously. An insane desire possessed him to do this thing. She was adorable, desirable, magnificent, and he was certain beyond doubt she loved him. With a catch of the breath he raised his hands and in so doing his glance fell upon the sleeve of the coat he wore. The cloth was of blue Cheviot which reminded him abruptly that he was Richard Frencham Altar masquerading in someone else's clothes, a circ.u.mstance which in no way admitted him to the use of short cuts to the affections of their real owner's admirers. It is disappointing to have to acknowledge that someone is violently in love with someone else that you happen to resemble and the reflection sobered him quickly. With an awkward laugh he turned away and repeated:

"Yes, tell him I'll take it in copper."

"Tony!" she said, "Tony, don't fool with it! Don't you, realise how frightfully serious it is? Haven't you any imagination?"

Apparently he did realise--apparently he had some imagination, for he replied:

"I imagine it is much too late for us to be talking here together. I'm going to ring the bell."

"No," she cried.

"My man will get you a cab."

"If you ring you'll be sorry."

"Life is full of regrets," he answered, and pressed the b.u.t.ton.

He saw the startled gesture she made to prevent him and simultaneously the hall and the bedroom doors were thrown open and three gentlemen, each levelling a revolver at his head, advanced into the room.

CHAPTER 9.

AN INVITATION TO STAY.

To a person of less even temperament than Richard the unexpected appearance of these three gentlemen marching in the wake of nickel plated shooting irons might well have aroused feelings of alarm and indignation. But for a matter of some four years Richard had been shot over pretty thoroughly and the lessons of calm learnt in the hard school of war did not desert him in the present situation. He felt, moreover, a curious certainty that the chance of bullets flying around was pretty remote. The primary necessity was to keep his head and avoid any word or action that might betray the fact that he was not the man they believed him to be. The name Van Diest, which had occurred in his conversation with the girl, came quickly to his brain and he glanced from one to another in the hope of determining whether its bearer was present.

His eyes were held by a short rotund person of advanced middle age who occupied the centre of the room. In outline this person was distinctly Dutch. His face was heavily pleated, with dewlaps pendant from the jaw. He wore side whiskers that did not make a good pair and dark bushy brows almost concealed his small, twinkly eyes. He possessed very little hair, but what there was had been pasted in thin separated strands across the shiny bald pate. A low collar of enormous circ.u.mference encircled his short neck and his tie was drawn through a Zodiac ring. His clothes were ill-fitting--shapeless trousers and a voluminous morning coat, in the b.u.t.tonhole of which was a pink carnation with a silver papered stem, an immense watch-chain spread across a coa.r.s.ely knitted waistcoat of Berlin wool. And he seemed out of breath. The pistol in his extended hand vibrated in sympathy with an accelerated pulse rate.

Richard's left hand wandered carelessly to his hip.

"Look here, Mr. Van Diest," he said, "were you never taught that it's rude to point?"

A tw.a.n.g like the snapping of a 'cello string brought his head round sharply.

"Hands away from your side pocket."