ape.

"You fashioned us," they jeered; "out of your brains we were born, and
now you shall serve us evermore. . . . You cannot--you shall not
escape. . . ."

To Vane it was all the voice of Fate. "You cannot--you shall not
escape. What is to be--is to be; and your puny efforts will not alter
a single letter in the book. . . ."

And yet of his own free will he had left Joan; he had brought it on
himself.

"What if I had done as she wished?" he demanded aloud. "What would you
have done then, you swine?"

But there is no answer in this world to the Might-have-been; only
silence and imagination, which, at times, is very merciless.

He stepped out of the train at Euston and drove straight to his rooms.
For the first time in his life he took no notice of Binks, and that
worthy, knowing that something was wrong, just sat in his basket and
waited. Perhaps later he'd be able to help somehow. . . .

"The young lady who came to tea was round here four or five days ago,
Mr. Vane," said Mrs. Green, when she had set a match to the fire.

Vane sat very still. "And what did she want, Mrs. Green?"

"To see you, sir. She said that she had rung up the depot, and the man
who answered said you were on leave. . . ."

"He would," said Vane, grimly.

"So she came here," Mrs. Green paused, and watched him with a motherly
eye; then she busied herself needlessly over the fire. "I found her
with Binks in her arms--and she seemed just miserable. 'Oh! can't you
tell me where he is, Mrs. Green?' she said. 'I can't, my dear,' said
I, 'for I don't know myself . . . .' And then she picked up a piece of
paper and wrote a few words on it, and sealed it up, and addressed it
to you at Murchester. . . ."

"Ah!" said Vane quietly. "She wrote it here, did she?" He laughed a
short, bitter laugh. "She was right, Mrs. Green. I had the game in my
hands, and I chucked it away." He rose and stared grimly at the houses
opposite. "Did she say by any chance where she was staying?"

"Ashley Gardens, she said; and if you came in, I was to let you know."

"Thank you, Mrs. Green." He turned round at length, and took up the
telephone book. "You might let me have some tea. . . ."

The worthy woman bustled out of the room, shaking her head. Like
Binks, she knew that something was very wrong; but the consolation of
sitting in a basket and waiting for the clouds to roll by was denied
her. For the Humans have to plot and contrive and worry,