bout a letter that had intercepted him at
Brighton and brought him post-haste to London.

A letter? John Steele had entered the cab; he sank back; when had he
written a letter? Weeks ago; he looked at this face, familiar, far-off;
the fog was again rising around him. He could hardly see; he was glad he
did not have to stir; he seemed to breathe with difficulty.

"Where--are we going?"

"To Rosemary Villa."

"I--should prefer--my own chambers"--John Steele spoke with an
effort--"it is nearer--and I'm a bit done up. Besides, after a little
rest, there are--some business matters--to be attended to--that will
need looking after as soon as--"

His head fell forward; Captain Forsythe looked at him; called up loudly,
excitedly to the driver.

* * * * *

CHAPTER XXII

NEAR THE RIVER

A dubious sort of day, one that seemed vainly trying to appear cheerful!
A day that threw out half-promises, that showed tentatively on the sky a
mottled blur where the sun should have been! On such a day, a month
after that night in Lord Ronsdale's rooms, Captain Forsythe, calling on
John Steele, found himself admitted to the sitting-room. While waiting
for an answer to his request to see Mr. Steele, he gazed disapprovingly
around him. The rooms were partly dismantled; a number of boxes
littering the place indicating preparations to move. Captain Forsythe
surveyed these cases, more or less filled; then he shook his head and
lighted a cigar. But as he smoked he seemed asking himself a question;
he had not yet found the answer when a footstep was heard and the
subject of his ruminations entered the room. John Steele's face was
paler than it had been; thinner, like that of a man who had recently
suffered some severe illness.

"Ah, Forsythe!" he said, with an assumption of cheeriness. "So good of
you!"

"That's all very well," was the answer. "But what about those?" With his
cigar he indicated vaguely the boxes.

"Those? Not yet all packed, are they? Lazy beggars, your London
servants, just before leaving you!" he laughed.

"See here!" Forsythe looked at him. "You're not well enough yet to--"

"Never felt better!"

"No chance to get you to change your mind, I suppose?"

"Not in the least!"

For a few moments Forsythe said nothing; then, "Weed?" he asked,
offering Steele a cigar.

"Don't believe I'll begin just yet a while."

"Oh!" significantly. "Quite fit, eh?" Forsythe's tone sounded,