each to the really
ignorant, the really depraved, the West-Enders!"

"Do I understand," Macheson asked, "that you have a definite scheme in
which you are inviting me to take part?"

Drayton lit a cigarette and led the way out.

"Look here," he said, "I'll walk with you as far as you're going, and
tell you all about it...."

It was a sort of pilgrimage which Macheson undertook during these
restless nights, a walk seemingly purposeless, the sole luxury which he
permitted himself. Always about the same hour he found himself on the
garden side of Berkeley Square, always he stood and looked, for a period
of time of which he took no count, at the tall, dimly lit house, across
whose portals he had once passed into fairyland. Then came a night when
everything was changed. Lights flashed from the windows, freshly painted
window-boxes had been filled with flowers, scarce enough now; everything
seemed to denote a sudden spirit of activity. Macheson stood and watched
with a curious sense of excitement stirring in his blood. He knew very
well what was happening. She was coming, perhaps had already arrived in
town. He realized as he stood there, a silent motionless figure, how far
gone in his folly he really was, how closely woven were the bonds that
held him. For time seemed to him of no account beside the chance of
seeing her, if only for a moment, as she passed in or out. He never knew
how long he waited there--it was long enough, however, for his patience
to be rewarded. Smoothly, with flashing lights, a little electric
brougham turned into the Square and pulled up immediately opposite to
him. The tall footman sprang to the ground, the door flew open, he saw
a slim, familiar figure, veiled and dressed in a dark travelling
costume, pass leisurely up the steps and into the arc of light which
streamed through the open door. The brougham glided away, the door was
closed, she was gone. Still Macheson leaned forward, watching the spot
where she had been, his heart thumping against his sides, his senses
thrilled with the excitement of her coming. Suddenly his attention was
diverted in a curious manner. He became conscious that he was not the
only watcher under the chestnut trees. A man had stolen out from amongst
the deeper shadows close up to the railings, and was standing by his
side. Macheson recognized him with a start.

"What are you doing here?" he asked abruptly.

His fellow-watcher, too, showed signs of excitement. His che