e small table that carried
the reading-lamp, and he and the chambermaid surveyed the results.

"Lovely, I do think," she said; "any lady would love them. I likes
flowers myself, I do. I come from the country, sir, where there's a many,
and the wild flowers that Jack and I liked best of all. Specially
primroses, sir." There was a sound in her voice as she turned away, and
Peter heard it.

"Jack?" he queried softly.

"'E's been missing since last July, sir," she said, stopping by the door.

"Has he?" said Peter. "Well, you must not give up hope, you know; he may
be a prisoner."

She shook her head. "He's dead," she said, with an air of finality. "I
oughtn't to have spoke a word, but them flowers reminded me. I'm glad as
how I have to do these rooms, sir. Most of them don't bother with
flowers. Is there anything else you might be wanting, sir?"

"Light fires in both the grates, please," he said. "I'm so sorry about
Jack," he added.

She gave him a look, and passed out.

Peter wandered about touching this and that. Suddenly he remembered the
magazines. He ran out and caught a lift about to descend, and was once
more in the street. Near Leicester Square was a big foreign shop, and he
entered it, and gathered of all kinds. As he went to pay, he saw _La Vie
Parisienne_, and added that also to the bundle; Julie used to say she
loved it. Back in the hotel, he sent them to his room, and glanced at his
watch. He had time for tea. He went out into the lounge and ordered it,
sitting back under the palms. It came, and he was in the act of pouring
out a cup when he saw Donovan.

Donovan was with a girl, but so were most men; Peter could not be sure
of her. It was only a glimpse he had, for the two had finished and were
passing out. Donovan stood back to let her first through the great
swing-doors, and then, pulling on his gloves, followed. They both
disappeared.

Peter sat on, in a tumult. He had been too busy all day to reflect much,
but now just what he was about to do began to overwhelm him. If Donovan
met him with Julie? Well, they could pretend they had just met, they
could even part, and meet again. Could they? Would Donovan be deceived
for a minute? It seemed to him impossible. And he might be staying there.
Suppose he met someone else. Langton? Sir Robert Doyle? His late Vicar?
Hilda? Mr. Lessing? And Julie would have acquaintances too. He shook
himself mentally, and lit a cigarette. Well, suppose they did; he was