part of one or two of his guests.
Monsieur Douaille, for instance, was anxious to remain the escort of
Lady Hunterleys, whose plans for the afternoon he had ascertained were
unformed. Mr. Grex was anxious to keep apart his daughter and Lady
Weybourne, whose relationship to Richard Lane he had only just
apprehended; while he himself desired a little quiet conversation with
Monsieur Douaille before they paid the visit which had been arranged for
to the Club and the Casino. In the end, Mr. Grex was both successful and
unsuccessful. He carried off Monsieur Douaille for a short ride in his
automobile, but was forced to leave his daughter and Lady Weybourne
alone. Draconmeyer, who had been awaiting his opportunity, remained by
Lady Hunterleys' side.

"I wonder," he asked, "whether you would step in for a few minutes and
see Linda?"

She had been looking at the table where her husband and his companion
had been seated. Draconmeyer's voice seemed to bring her back to a
present not altogether agreeable.

"I am going back to my room for a little time," she replied. "I will
call in and see Linda first, if you like."

They left the restaurant together and strolled across the Square to the
Hotel de Paris, ascended in the lift, and made their way to
Draconmeyer's suite of rooms in a silence which was almost unbroken.
When they entered the large salon with its French-windows and balcony,
they found the apartment deserted. Violet looked questioningly at her
companion. He closed the door behind him and nodded.

"Yes," he admitted, "my message was a subterfuge. I have sent Linda over
to Mentone with her nurse. She will not be back until late in the
afternoon. This is the opportunity for which I have been waiting."

She showed no signs of anger or, indeed, disturbance of any sort. She
laid her tiny white silk parasol upon the table and glanced at him
coolly.

"Well," she said, "you have your way, then. I am here."

Draconmeyer looked at her long and anxiously. Skilled though he was in
physiognomy, closely though he had watched, for many months, the lights
and shades, the emotional changes in her expression, he was yet, at that
moment, completely puzzled. She was not angry. Her attitude seemed to
be, in a sense, passive. Yet what did passivity mean? Was it
resignation, consent, or was it simply the armour of normal resistance
in which she had clothed herself? Was he wise, after all, to risk
everything? Then, as he looked at her,