"Tell him yes, raving mad," said Melton savagely; and the man went down.

"It's fate, I suppose," he said at last: "and it seems as if I am to give her up."

For from that fatal day when the toy terrier had been slain Joby had stood in the same category as his master--Lady Maude was not at home to the canine caller, and after many efforts to obtain access to his mistress, Charley Melton was nearly in despair.

He had tried the post, and his letters had been returned. He had tried the servants and mutual friends, but given up both in disgust for Maude's sake, being unwilling to cause her fresh anxieties and pain.

"It is so confoundedly undignified," he said to himself. "I can't think of a plan that is safe. But never mind, patience--and something will turn up. We must wait. I can get a look at my darling now and then, and that must do till better days arrive."

But human nature has its bounds of endurance, and after seeing Maude one day in the Park in company with washed-out, overdressed Sir Grantley Wilters, Charley Melton could bear it no more.

"What's the good of living in this confounded England," he exclaimed, "where a man cannot wring his rival's neck or knock out his enemy's brains without there being a row. I must do it, there is no other means that I can see but I'll have one more try first."

He went off straight to Portland Place, and as he came within sight of the house, to his great delight he caught sight of Maude in the large covered s.p.a.ce with its huge pots of evergreens over the portico. She was leaning on the railing and gazing pensively down, and as Charley Melton drew nearer he found that she was listening to the music of a loud-toned organ played by a tall, broad-shouldered, swarthy Italian, who waved his hand and raised his hat, and smiled and bowed till the lady dropped something white into his extended felt broad brim, in response to which he kissed his hand, and the lady still looked down.

Charley Melton thought little of it at the moment as he crossed the road, when just as he was half-way across the broad way Maude raised her head, saw him, and fled quickly into the house.

"She needn't have been in such a precious hurry," said Melton to himself; "but never mind, I'll make a big effort to see her this time, at all events."

He went boldly across the pavement to reach the front door and ring, and as he did so Luigi Malsano followed him, turning his handle the while.

"Ah, signore!" he whined, as he smiled and showed his white teeth, "povero Italiano."

"Yes, you handsome scoundrel," said Charley Melton to himself, "I should like your poverty. Allowed to come here, and rewarded by her in her gentle love and kindliness. What is the scoundrel glaring at?"

For Luigi's eyes seemed to him to emit a peculiarly sinister or baleful glare that was not pleasant.

"No, no, go away!" said Melton impatiently.

Just then the door opened, and Robbins the pompous appeared.

"Not at home, sir," he said, before he was asked.

"Take my card, Robbins, and ask Lord Barmouth to see me."

"I dursen't, sir; I dursen't indeed," said the butler in a whisper.

"It's more than my place is worth, sir, and his lordship couldn't see you, he couldn't indeed."

"Why not?"

Robbins "made a face" which was quite expressive enough, for Charley Melton read it to mean "the dragon wouldn't let him," and with a feeling of bitterness and rage which nearly tempted him to kick the organ-grinder into the gutter, he turned and walked away, to go straight from thence to Upper Gimp Street, where he found the handsome hairdresser rearranging the costume of his waxen lady dummy.

"Ah, m'sieu; yes, I am quite at liberty. _Entrez_, m'sieu."

Charley Melton confounded his "Ah, monsieur" with the Italian's "Ah, signore," and he walked into the saloon, and stood for a few minutes in silence thinking, while Monsieur Hector suggested hair-cutting, shampooing, scent, singeing, and other matters connected with his profession.

"Look here, Mr Launay," he said at last.

"M'sieu, _s'il vous plait_, m'sieu, it is the only pleasant reminder of my own clime."

"Monsieur Launay then--"

"I am at your service, m'sieu."

"Some time back, when I was here, you were good enough to make me the offer of your services."

"_Certainement_, m'sieu."

"Monsieur Launay, what you have said is a profound secret between us?

As a French gentleman, I trust to your honour."

"Sare, I am the repository of the secrets of the aristocratic cla.s.ses."

"Then perhaps I shall trust you."

"And monsieur accepts the offer of my services?"

"I cannot say yet--I will call again."

Charley Melton left the place and went along the street, for he could get no farther that day. He felt degraded, and the words choked him; but Monsieur Launay s.n.a.t.c.hed a copy of _Le Pet.i.t Journal_ from over the head of his gentleman, whose fixed eyes followed the young man as he went slowly along the pavement with Joby close at his heels.

"_C'est fait_?" exclaimed Monsieur Launay. "Justine, _mon ange_, I shall obey you and save Monsieur Melton--_Ma foi_! what a name! They will be happy, and then I--Ah, la France--la bel-le," he sang, "at last I shall return to you a rich man. Oh, but it was quite plain: he had sent a note by the dogue, and the boule-dogue had lost it and his collar. But what it is to be ingenious--to have of the spirit! If I rase and cut hair, I starve myself, but if I make myself of great use to all around, I grow rich. Live the secrets! Justine, you will be mine at last.

"Aha!--it is good," he continued, "I have another secret to keep...

This is the bureau aux secrets. He had not remarked the likeness to my adorable. It is beautiful, and she was _jalouse_ when I say I love my lady of wax. _Cette cherie_. But, _ma foi_! I must be busy over my other affairs; there is the coiffure of the Grande Barmouth to prepare.

Aha, Milady La Grande, you will call _ma cherie bete, chouette_, stupide, and trouble her poor sweet soul. Now I shall have my revenge, and be on ze best of terms as you say all ze time. La--la--la--la--la-- la. Par-tir pour la guer-re--la guer-re. Ces braves soldats."

He sang on in a low tone, and began to comb some of Lady Barmouth's falsities, and while he combed he smiled, and when Monsieur Hector smiled he was making plans.

"_Vive les conspirateurs_!" he cried; and then prepared for his primitive repast.

Being a bachelor at present, he cooked for himself behind a little screen over a gas-stove; sometimes it was food, sometimes strange cosmetiques and chemical preparations for beautifying his clients. This day it was food preparation, and, manipulated by Monsieur Hector, one kidney became a wonderful dish, swimming in gravy. Tiny bits of meat reappeared brown and appetising: and he was great upon soup, which he made with half a pint of water, some vegetables, and a disc cut off what seemed to be so much glue in a sausage skin.

But he lived well upon a small income, and partook of grand salads, water _souchees_ made of one herring, _biftek-aux-pommes, cafe, eau sucree_, and cigarette.

One gas-burner cooked, boiled, and stewed, and his cleanliness and saving ways enabled him to afford his game at billiards; and to pa.s.s for a Parisian of the first water under a political cloud.

"Ah!" he said, as he smoked his one cigarette, "when will he return with a letter for his beloafed? Soon. But stop--what is a letter to a meeting? Ha, ha! I have a plan. Wait till he come once more, and then--ha, ha! how la Justine will laugh! _Vive l'amour_.

"Yes, the ruse, one that your foggy head, ros-bif Anglais could never devise, but which I, Hector of the sunny France, threw off at once.

Oorai, as we say in thees deesmal country. _Vive l'amour_. One--two-- three days; when will he come? Any veek, and then--_vive l'amour_."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

SIR GRANTLEY IS AGITATED.

Lady Barmouth was in great trouble, and resembled more strongly than ever the heaving billows. She had been so agitated several times lately that she had found it necessary to take medicinally red lavender drops, or else eau de Cologne, the latter by preference for its fragrance.