ale of the
adventurous career of any one who has slipped down the ladder of
respectability, rung by rung, into that shadowy no-man's-land where the
furtive birds of prey foregather and hatch their plots. It was plain
enough that O'Hara had, as the phrase goes, seen better days. Without
question he was a villain, but, after all, a generous villain. He had
been very decent about making amends for that poisoning affair. A
cheaper rascal would have behaved otherwise. Ste. Marie suddenly
remembered what a friend of his had once said of this mysterious
Irishman. The two had been sitting on the terrace of a cafe, and as
O'Hara passed by Ste. Marie's friend pointed after him and said: "There
goes some of the best blood that ever came out of Ireland. See what it
has fallen to!"

Seemingly it had fallen pretty low. He would have liked very much to
know about the downward stages, but he knew that he would never hear
anything of them from the man himself, for O'Hara was clad, as it were,
in an armor of taciturnity. He was incredibly silent. He wore mail that
nothing could pierce.

The Irishman turned abruptly away and left the room, and Ste. Marie,
with all the gay excitement of a little girl preparing for her first
nursery party, began to get himself ready to go out. The old Michel had
already been there to help him bathe and shave, so that he had only to
dress himself and attend to his one conspicuous vanity--the painstaking
arrangement of his hair, which he wore, according to the fashion of the
day, parted a little at one side and brushed almost straight back, so
that it looked rather like a close-fitting and incredibly glossy
skullcap. Richard Hartley, who was inclined to joke at his friend's
grave interest in the matter, said that it reminded him of
patent-leather.

When he was dressed--and he found that putting on his left boot was no
mean feat--Ste. Marie sat down in a chair by the window and lighted a
cigarette. He had half an hour to wait, and so he picked up the volume
of _Bayard_, which Coira O'Hara had not yet taken away from him, and
began to read in it at random. He became so absorbed that the old
Michel, come to summon him, took him by surprise. But it was a pleasant
surprise and very welcome. He followed the old man out of the room with
a heart that beat fast with eagerness.

The descent of the stairs offered difficulties, for the wounded leg
protested sharply against being bent more than a very little at the