Josephine was herself again within a few moments of her husband's departure. She stood perfectly still for some time, as though listening to his departing footsteps. Then she crossed the room and pressed the bell twice. Once more she listened. The change in her expression was wonderful. She was expectant, eager, thrilled with the contemplation of some imminent happening. Her vigil came suddenly to an end, as the door was opened and closed again a little abruptly. It was no servant who had obeyed her summons; it was Wingate who entered, unannounced and alone.

"Everything goes well?" he asked, as he advanced rapidly into the room.

"Absolutely!"

"Good! Where is your husband now?"

"Gone to his den to have a drink, I expect," she replied. "He is in a terrible state of nerves already."

"I am afraid he will be worse before we've done with him," Wingate remarked a little grimly. "Josephine, just one moment!"

She was in his arms and forgetfulness enfolded them. He felt the soft cling of her body, the warm sweetness of her lips. It was she who disengaged herself.

"I am terrified of Henry coming back," she admitted, as she moved reluctantly away. "He is in one of his most hateful moods to-night.

Better than anything in the world he would love to make a scene."

"He shall have all the opportunity he wants presently," Wingate observed.

The door was opened with the soft abruptness of one who has approached it noiselessly by design. Dredlinton stood upon the threshold, blinking a little as he gazed into the room. He recognized Wingate with a start of amazement.

"Wingate?" he exclaimed. "Why the mischief didn't any one tell me you were here?"

"Mr. Wingate called to see me," Josephine replied.

There was an ugly curl upon Dredlinton's lips. He opened his mouth and closed it again. Then his truculent att.i.tude suddenly vanished without the slightest warning. He became an entirely altered person.

"Look here, Wingate," he confessed, "on thinking it over, I believe I've been making rather an idiot of myself. Josephine," he went on, turning to his wife, "be so kind as to leave us alone for a short time."

He opened the door. Josephine hesitated for a moment, then, in response to a barely noticeable gesture from Wingate, she left the room. Her husband closed the door carefully behind her. His att.i.tude, as he turned once more towards the other man, was distinctly conciliatory.

"Wingate," he invited, "sit down, won't you, and smoke a cigar with me.

Let us have a reasonable chat together, I am perfectly convinced that there is nothing for us to quarrel about."

"Since when have you come to that conclusion, Lord Dredlinton?" Wingate asked, without abandoning his somewhat uncompromising att.i.tude.

"Since our interview at the office."

"You mean when you tried to blackmail me into selling my shipping shares?"

Dredlinton frowned.

"'Blackmail' is not a word to be used between gentlemen," he protested.

"Look here, can't you behave like a decent fellow--an ordinary human being, you know? You are not exactly my sort, but I am sure you're a man of honour, I haven't any objection to your friendship with my wife--none in the world."

"The sentiments which I entertain for your wife, Lord Dredlinton,"

Wingate declared, "are not sentiments of friendship."

Dredlinton paused in the act of lighting a cigar.

"What's that?" he exclaimed. "You mean that, after all, you've humbugged me, both of you?"

"Not in the way you seem to imagine. This much, however, is true, and it is just as well that you should know it. I love your wife and I intend to take her from you, in her time and mine."

Dredlinton lit his cigar and threw himself back into his chair.

"Well, you don't mince matters," he muttered.

"I see no reason why I should," was the calm reply.

"After all," Dredlinton observed, with a cynical turn of the lips, "I see no reason why I should object. Josephine's been no wife of mine for years. Perhaps you have a fancy for your love affairs wrapped up in a little ice frosting."

Wingate's eyes flashed.

"That'll do," he advised, with ominous calm.

"Eh?"

"We will not discuss your wife."

Dredlinton shrugged his shoulders.

"As you will. a.s.sist me, then, in my office of host. What or whom shall we discuss? Choose your own subject."

"The disappearance of Stanley Rees, if you like," was the unexpected reply.

Dredlinton stared at his visitor. Symptoms of panic were beginning to rea.s.sert themselves.

"You admit, then, that you were concerned in that?"

"Concerned in it?" Wingate repeated. "I think I can venture a little further than that."

"What do you mean?" was the startled query.

"I mean that I was and am entirely responsible for it."

Dredlinton's cigar fell from his fingers. For the moment he forgot to pick it up. Then he stooped and with shaking fingers threw it into the grate. When he confronted Wingate again, his face was deadly pale. He seemed, indeed, on the point of collapse.

"Why have you done this?" he faltered. "Tell me what you mean, man, when you say that you were responsible for his disappearance?"

"You are curious? Perhaps a little superst.i.tious, a little nervous about yourself, eh?"

"What the devil have you done with Stanley Rees?" Dredlinton demanded.

Wingate smiled.

"Rees," he said, "as I reminded you, is the youngest of the British and Imperial directors. Let me see, next to him would come Phipps, I suppose.

Martin, as you may have heard, left for Paris this morning--ostensibly. I have an idea myself that his destination is South America."

"Martin gone?" the other gasped.