"Was the murderer caught?" Deane asked.

"Arrested just as he was leaving the hotel," Lord Nunneley answered,--"at least they arrested the man they thought had done it.

Here's the paper, if you have a taste for horrors."

Deane stood perfectly still for several minutes. Lady Olive was b.u.t.toning her gloves, and did not notice him. Her mother was standing at the further end of the room, helping herself to coffee. Lord Nunneley alone was conscious of the change in his guest's expression.

"Nothing wrong, I hope, Deane?" he asked. "You didn't know the fellow, by any chance, did you?"

Deane shook his head. He spoke very quietly and very distinctly. Except that he was unusually pale, his manner showed no signs of emotion. And yet, all the time he felt that he was being stifled! In his ears was the singing of tragedy!

"No!" he said. "I never heard of him in my life."

He crossed the room to help Lady Olive with her cloak.

"Stay and have a smoke with me," Lord Nunneley suggested. "I am going round to the club in about an hour's time, and then I am going to pick these people up at a ball somewhere."

"You are very kind," Deane answered. "To tell you the truth, I have just remembered a very important letter which I ought to have written. If you will excuse me, I am going to hurry away at once. I should like to catch my secretary before he leaves."

Lord Nunneley nodded. "You will have to get him to give it up," he said to his daughter. "Fancy having to write a business letter at ten o'clock at night! Perfect slavery!"

"Shall I see you to-morrow, Stirling?" Lady Olive asked, walking with him into the hall.

"We'll lunch, if you like," he said. "Or shall I come to tea? I shall not be busy much after noon."

"I am not quite sure what I have to do to-morrow," she answered, "but I think that I would rather that you came here. We'll meet sometime, anyhow. Good-bye!"

He raised her fingers to his lips. "Enjoy yourself," he said.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Absolutely a duty dance," she murmured, waving her hand. "I know that I shall be bored to death! By the bye, Stirling, don't forget that in about three weeks' time I want you to give a luncheon party at the Carlton to Julia and her husband, and some of the others."

"As soon as you like," Deane answered.

"Julia won't be back till then," Lady Olive said. "Au revoir!"

CHAPTER V

A DEBT INCURRED

A little stream of people came suddenly out from the dark, forbidding-looking building into the sun-lit street. The tragedy was over, and one by one they took their several ways, and were swallowed up in the restless life of the great city. Yet there was not one of them who did not carry in his face some trace of those hours of gloomy excitement, some reminiscent shadow of the tragedy which had spread itself out into pa.s.sionate life before their eyes. The most callous was conscious of a few minutes' unusual gravity. Some of the more impressionable carried with them the memory of that hot, crowded room, the air of tense excitement, the slowly spoken, solemn words, throughout that day and many days to come.

"And may the Lord have mercy upon your soul!"

There was one man who issued from the building and made his way into the street, who seemed altogether dazed. His lips were drawn tightly together, his eyes were set in an unseeing stare. It was not until he had walked fifty yards or so that he seemed even to realize where he was. Then he came to a sudden standstill, and retraced his steps.

Standing outside the building which he had just quitted was a small electric brougham, in front of which he stopped. He glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes past one o'clock. All around was the great stream of city men and clerks, hurrying to their mid-day meal. Once more, as he stood with the handle in his hand, he looked back down the dark pa.s.sage, guarded by a single policeman, through which he had come a moment or two before. The scene in the little courthouse spread itself out with almost hideous precision before his reluctant eyes. He saw once more what is certainly the greatest tragedy which the mechanical side of our every-day life can offer to the seeker after sensations. He saw a man stand up and listen to the words p.r.o.nounced which are to deprive him of life,--"And may the Lord have mercy upon your soul!"

Deane turned to his chauffeur. "The Carlton!" he said, and stepped inside.

The brougham glided away, swung in and out of the traffic, and ran smoothly along the Embankment, westward. Deane let down both the windows, took off his hat and placed it on the seat opposite him. Then he drew a small fine cambric handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his forehead.

"G.o.d in Heaven!" he muttered to himself. "Twelve men, and not one of them could see the truth. Twelve men, all fools!"

He took a cigarette from a small gold case, and lit it with trembling fingers. Then he leaned out of the carriage window. "Stop at the Metropole, Richards," he ordered.

The man was just swinging into Northumberland Avenue, and he pulled up in front of the hotel. Deane went in hurriedly, and made his way to the smoking-room, exchanging abrupt greetings with one or two acquaintances.

There he ordered and drank quickly a large brandy-and-soda. When he retraced his steps, he felt more composed.

"To the Carlton now," he ordered. "Hurry, please. I fancy that I am a little late."

In the foyer of the restaurant, Lady Olive came slowly forward to meet him. She was beautifully dressed, and she wore her clothes with the air of one who has been accustomed to be clad in silk and laces from the days of her cradle. She had been a beauty for so long that no one questioned her looks. It seemed even incredible that she was twenty-nine years old. One realized that she was of the order of women who refuse to grow old,--women without nerves, unruffled by emotions, women who come smiling through the years, unconscious devotees of the essential philosophy. To Deane she had never seemed more desirable than when she greeted him with a slight uplifting of her eyebrows, and turned to present him to another man and woman who were standing by.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Lady Olive came slowly forward to meet him.]

"Mr. Deane is going to make the usual excuses, I know," she declared.

"Let us antic.i.p.ate him, and say nothing about our wait. We won't even ask whether it was a directors' meeting, or a message from the governor of the Bank of England. Stirling, this is my cousin, Mary Elstree, and her husband, Major Elstree--Mr. Deane! The others are somewhere about.

What a tiresome person Julia is! She has drifted away over there with a lot of people whom I don't know. That is the worst of taking Julia anywhere. I think that she would discover acquaintances in an A B C shop. Do find her, Stirling. No, don't bother! Here she comes."

A tall, dark woman detached herself from a neighboring crowd, and came up to Deane with outstretched hands. "My dear man!" she exclaimed. "How dare you look so cool and nonchalant! Do you realize that we are all starving? We have been waiting here for you for more than half an hour."

"I am sorry," answered Deane. "You see, you people here have taken to lunching so early nowadays. You make it hard for a man to get through any work at all in the city."

"Early lunches have come in with the simpler life," Julia Raynham declared. "One has so many more hours to look forward to dinner, and so much more appet.i.te when it comes. I suppose we must forgive you," she went on. "At any rate, you are better than my husband, who won't come out to lunch at all. He says that all restaurant food is poisonous, and I can't drag him away from the club. Why a man should put his digestion before our society, I can't imagine. I hope you will never be so ungallant, Mr. Deane. Shall we go in, Olive?"

"If you will excuse me for one moment," Deane said, pa.s.sing on ahead, "I will just see that the table is all right. I telephoned to Gustave, but even a _maitre d'hotel_ forgets sometimes."

He looked into the room, and nodded to the presiding genius who came hurrying up. The table was there, duly reserved, and covered with the dark red roses which he had ordered. He turned to Mrs. Elstree and the others who were following her.

"I think we can go in," he said. "I hope you people have not lost all your appet.i.tes waiting for me."

Lady Olive looked at him a little curiously as she took the seat at his left, hers by unspoken consent as his fiancee. "My dear Stirling," she whispered, "have you had a very trying morning? You look somehow as though you had been worried."

He hesitated. "Well," he answered, "scarcely that, perhaps. I had rather a bad hour or so. Things don't go always our way, you know, in the city, even when one is most prosperous."

"You are foolish to worry," she said calmly. "Half the people in the world spoil their lives by giving way to that sort of thing. I should have thought that your temperament would have saved you from that."

Deane smiled. "Remember," he said, "that I have been in other places when I might have been with you, and excuse me."

"You are much too gallant," she said, with a little laugh, "to argue with seriously."

"By the bye," Major Elstree asked, "has anyone seen a special edition? I wonder if the Rowan case is finished."

Deane set down the winegla.s.s which he had just raised to his lips. "The verdict was given just as I left the city," he answered. "Rowan was found guilty!"