"Well!" he exclaimed grimly. "Trouble already, eh? I see it in your face, young man. Out with it!"

John--who had won a hard match at rackets a few days before against a more experienced opponent simply because of his perfect condition--was breathing hard. There was a dull patch of color in his cheek, drops of sweat stood upon his forehead. He controlled his voice with difficulty.

Its tone was sharp and unfamiliar.

"I was sitting in the smoking room there, a few moments ago," he began, jerking his head toward the door. "There were some men talking--decent fellows, not dirty scandalmongers. They spoke of Louise Maurel."

Graillot nodded gravely. He knew very well what was coming.

"Well?"

"They spoke, also, of the Prince of Seyre."

"Well?"

John felt his throat suddenly dry. The words he would have spoken choked him. He banged his fist upon the table by the side of which they were standing.

"Look here, Graillot," he cried, almost piteously, "you know it is not true, not likely to be true! Can't you say so?"

"Stop, my young friend!" the Frenchman interrupted. "I know nothing. It is a habit of mine to know nothing when people make suggestions of that sort. I make no inquiries. I accept life and people as I find them."

"But you don't believe that such a thing could be possible?"

"Why not?" Graillot asked steadily.

John could do no more than mumble a repet.i.tion of his words. The world was falling away from him. He was dimly conscious that one of the engravings upon the wall opposite was badly hung. For the rest, Graillot's face, stern, yet pitying, seemed to loom like the features of a giant, eclipsing everything else.

"I will not discuss this matter with you, my friend. I will only ask you to remember the views of the world in which we live. Louise Maurel is an artist, a great artist. If there has been such an affair as you suggest, between her and any man, if it were something which appealed to her affections, it is my opinion that she would not hesitate. You seem to think it an outrageous thing that the prince should have been her lover.

To be perfectly frank, I do not. I should be very much more surprised at her marriage."

John made his escape somehow. He remembered opening the door, but he had no recollection of reaching the street. A few minutes later, however, he found himself striding down Piccadilly toward Hyde Park Corner.

The night was warm, and there were still plenty of people about. A woman touched his arm; her hackneyed greeting filled him with inexpressible horror. He stared at her, barely conscious of what he was doing, filled with an indescribable sickness of heart.

"You look about done up," she said in friendly fashion. "Come round to my flat and have a drink. You needn't stay if you don't want to."

He muttered something and pa.s.sed on. A moment or two later, however, he retraced his steps. Out of the horror of his thought had come an irresistible impulse. He slipped some gold into her hand.

"Please take this and go home," he enjoined. "Go home at once! Get out of the streets and hide yourself."

She stared at him and at the money.

"Why, I've only just come out," she protested. "All the same, I'm dead tired. I'll go. Walk with me, won't you? You look as if you wanted looking after."

"I'm all right," he answered. "You go home."

She slipped the money carefully into her purse, and hailed a taxi.

"You shall have your own way," she declared. "Can't I drop you anywhere?"

He raised his hat, and, once more swinging around, pa.s.sed on his way.

Presently he found himself in the street where Louise lived. He looked at his watch--it was twenty minutes to three o'clock.

The house was in solemn darkness. He stood and looked up at it. There was no sign of a light, not even from the top windows. Its silence seemed to him more than the silence of sleep. He found himself wondering whether it was really inhabited, whether there were really human souls in this quiet corner, waiting peacefully for the dawn, heedless of the torment which was tearing his soul to pieces. Perhaps, behind that drawn blind, Louise herself was awake. Perhaps she was thinking, looking back into the past, wondering about the future. He took a step toward the gate.

"Are you going in there, sir?"

He turned quickly around. A policeman had flashed a lantern upon him.

John suddenly became intensely matter-of-fact.

"No," he replied. "It is too late, I am afraid. I see that they have all gone to bed. Any chance of a taxi about here?"

"Most likely you'll find one at the corner," the policeman pointed out.

"There's a rank there, and one or two of them generally stay late. Very much obliged, sir."

John had slipped a coin into the man's hand. Then he walked deliberately away. He found a taxicab and was driven toward the Milan. He let down both the windows and leaned out. He was conscious of a wild desire to keep away from his rooms--to spend the night anywhere, anyhow, sooner than go back to the little apartment where Louise had sat with him only a few hours ago, and had given herself into his arms. Every pulse in his body was tingling. He was fiercely awake, eager for motion, action, excitement of any sort.

Suddenly he remembered the night-club to which he had been introduced by Sophy on the first night of his arrival in London. The address, too, was there quite clearly in his disordered brain. He leaned out of the cab and repeated it to the driver.

x.x.xV

The little place was unexpectedly crowded when John entered, after having handed his hat and coat to a _vestiaire_. A large supper-party was going on at the further end, and the dancing s.p.a.ce was smaller than usual. The _maitre d'hotel_ was escorting John to a small table in a distant corner, which had just been vacated, when the latter heard his name suddenly called by a familiar voice. Sophy, who had been dancing, abandoned her partner precipitately and came hurrying up to John with outstretched hands.

"John!" she exclaimed. "You, of all people in the world! What do you mean by coming here alone at this time of night? Fancy not telling me!

Is anything the matter?"

"Nothing," he replied. "I really don't exactly know why I am here. I simply didn't want to go to bed."

She looked at him closely. It was clear that she was a little puzzled at his appearance.

"If it were not you, John," she declared, "I should say that you had been having more to drink than was good for you!"

"Then you would be very wrong," John a.s.sured her, "because I haven't had anything at all. I have come here to get something. Can't you come and sit with me?"

"Of course!" she a.s.sented eagerly. "The prince is giving a supper-party at the other end of the room there. We all came on together from the reception. Let us get away to your corner quickly, or they will see you and make you go and join them. I would much rather have you to myself.

The people here seem so stupid to-night!"

John stood still, and made no movement toward the table which the _maitre d'hotel_ was smilingly preparing for them.

"Where is the prince?" he asked.

Sophy, struck by something in his voice, swung around and looked at him.

Then she thrust both her arms through his, clasped her two hands together, and led him firmly away. A glimmering of the truth was beginning to dawn upon her.

"Tell me where you have been since you left the reception," she insisted, when at last they were seated together.