Westerham whipped round on his heel towards Melun.

“What is that?” he asked sharply.

Melun shrugged his shoulders.

From Melun Westerham turned to the negro, whose teeth were bared in a wide grin.

“What is that?” Westerham demanded of him.

But the negro took his cue from Melun and merely shrugged his shoulders.

Then there came the scream again, louder and more terror-stricken than before. Westerham did not hesitate.

Before the negro had time to utter any protest he had snatched the lantern from his hand and was racing up the stairs.

Again came the scream, and Westerham blundered up the second flight, the negro and Melun hard upon his heels.

On the second landing there was no longer any doubt as to where the cries came from. Westerham dashed at the door, only to find it locked. In a second he had his shoulder against the crazy panel, and the door went in with a crash, disclosing a frowsy little sitting-room somewhat in disorder. All about was spread signs of a meal. Two girls—Westerham judged them to be young East End Jewesses—were huddled in a corner, while a man, whom Westerham at once recognised as a sailor, stood swaying drunkenly over them.

He had his hand at the man's collar in a moment, and swung him heavily backwards.

The negro, his face quivering with passion, blocked the doorway, knife in hand.

It was Westerham's turn to use firearms now, and he covered the man with as certain and as deadly an aim as that which had extorted the confession of Captain Melun on the Gigantic.

The girls ceased to scream, but clung together, crying and looking at Westerham in an appealing way with eyes blurred with tears.

Melun thrust the negro aside and brushed into the room.

“You fool!” he said to Westerham, shortly, “this is enough to bring the whole crowd about your ears.”

Westerham laughed. He had known what in Western parlance is called a “rough house” before, and was prepared for all emergencies. As usual, too, when he found himself in an emergency, he was cool and smiling to the point of insolence.

“You forget,” he said to Melun, “that there is a window in this room, and beyond the window is the street. You forget, too, that one good man is worth all that crowd you seem so much afraid of. I am going to take these girls away.”

The drunken sailor, who had by this time half-recovered his senses, sat on the floor, blinking at Westerham and cursing steadily.

Melun took one quick look at Westerham's unpleasantly bright and steady gaze, and again shrugged his shoulders. But this time the shrug indicated assent.

“Very well,” he said.

Westerham again turned to the negro. “Drop that knife,” he ordered.

“Not me!” said the negro.

“Drop it!” said Westerham again.

And the man dropped it.

He turned to the shivering girls. “Come along,” he said, “let's get out of this while there is time.”

Rising unsteadily to their feet, and still clinging together, the girls moved towards the door.

“Follow me down closely,” said Westerham, and then he thrust the nozzle of his six-shooter against the negro's breast.

“Right about,” he said, “and down the stairs before me.”

Melun he ignored altogether, and the captain brought up the rear. In this wise they went down the stairs.

The hubbub, however, had attracted the attention of the men below, and two or three of them were now gathered together in the darkness of the passage, swearing angrily.

Westerham, who had taken the lantern from the negro, swung it aloft.

“Permit me to show you a light,” he cried.

They blinked as the lantern dazzled their eyes, but they did not blink so much that they failed to catch the glint of the weapon Westerham carried.

“You dog, Melun!” cried one of them, “is this your friend that is to help us all? If he goes on at this rate he will land us all in gaol.”

Melun, however, by this time saw who was the better man, and felt that at the present pinch he was wise to stand by Westerham.

So he cursed the men roundly and ordered them back, asking them, with pleasant oaths, how long it was since they had ceased to have faith in him.

To this altercation Westerham paid no heed. He contented himself that at his direction the negro opened the door. The girls he told to wait for him outside.

On the threshold he turned about and faced the angry men.

“The sooner you people come to recognise,” he said, “that while I am here I shall do things in my own way so much the better for you. I am not in the habit of being interfered with by scum such as yourselves.”

He purposely gave the negro a push, which sent him rolling back into the passage; then he went out and drew the door after him with a slam.

Once in the street, Melun broke into a torrent of rebuke. Westerham was of no mind to listen to him and cut him short. Turning to the girls, he said:

“Walk whichever way you have to go, and I will follow and see that you are not molested.”

The girls would have hung round him to thank him, but he ordered them to walk on quickly, and then taking Melun's arm in the grip of his hand, he followed them till they had gained the main road.

There he did not even take the trouble to nod the girls good-bye, but bundled Melun into a tram running westward.

They were alone on the top of the car, and Melun endeavoured to speak again, but Westerham told him roughly to be silent.

He said no word, indeed, until they were back in the hotel. The captain was beyond protesting; he appeared dazed and cowed by the swiftness with which Westerham had wrested his authority from him and practically fought his way out of Limehouse.

In the little sitting-room, Westerham with great precision poured out a couple of whisky-and-sodas and handed Melun a cigar.

“You will not understand me the better by sulking or skulking,” he said. “I would suggest to you that even if you are not one you had better try to be a man.”

Melun winced, and was about to reply angrily, when Westerham again cut him short.

“Listen to me,” he said sharply. “I realise that while I am associated with you for my own ends I shall have to close my eyes to a great many matters not exactly permitted by the law of this country. That contingency, however, I was from the first prepared to face. There are, however, certain things which you had better at once understand I do not permit.”

“You do not permit!” Melun almost yelled.

“That I do not permit,” repeated Westerham, coldly. “And one of them is such a scene as I have witnessed to-night.”

His sea-green eyes were now blazing, and his mouth was shut like a trap.

“I have been introduced as your friend,” he continued, “and therefore I propose to visit Limehouse whensoever I choose.”

“But you cannot,” cried Melun.

“Oh, yes, my dear man, but I can, and, what is more, I mean to. You had better leave that to me. I already see that I am more qualified to deal with those ruffians down yonder than you are. I am not the least alarmed by their blustering, however much you may be.

“And so,” he went on, “I would have you understand clearly and without any mistake that I will have no women fetched into that den of iniquity on any pretext whatsoever. You understand me?”

Melun nodded feebly. He was completely crushed and beaten.

“Henceforward, too,” Westerham continued, “I am going to adopt a different attitude towards you. Once, I confess, I had a few uneasy feelings that, with what you are pleased to call your ‘endless resources,’ you might do me some injury. A good many people disappear in London, and I fancied for a little while I might become one of the lost ones, but, heavens! it is amazing to think that I should ever have felt the least disquiet. You and your precious friends are cowards, every one of you.

“However, we will leave that subject now and proceed to another which is of more importance and interest to me.”

Draining his whisky-and-soda, Westerham leaned back in his chair and smoked thoughtfully for a few minutes, keeping his gaze on the pale and cowering Melun.

Then he reached out for the newspaper, in which during the afternoon he had read that the Prime Minister was to give a reception on the morrow. Folding it carefully so as to mark the place, Westerham laid the paper down beside Melun and tapped the all-important paragraph with a quick, incisive finger.

“I would recall to your mind,” he said to the captain, “that I explained to you on the Gigantic that my sole object in returning to London was to make the acquaintance of the girl in the picture—the girl you informed me was the Lady Kathleen Carfax. Now I find you, even on this short acquaintance, such a braggart that I am inclined to doubt everything you say. So I am going to test your boast that you know Lady Kathleen, and that you have the entrÉe to Lord Penshurst's house. Did you lie to me on that matter or did you not?”

“I did not,” said Melun, with some signs of returning spirit.

In his excitement he would indeed have leapt from his chair, but Westerham gave him a little push in the chest which sat him down again.

“Not so fast,” he said, “you are here to listen to what I have to say.

“You tell me,” he continued, after a slight pause, “that what you said was true. In that case I demand as part of our bargain that you should take me to Lord Penshurst's to-morrow night.”

Melun became livid. “I will never do it,” he cried.

“You will not?” inquired Westerham with a little laugh. “Surely it was part of our agreement that you should introduce me to all your friends. If you fail to keep that agreement, then I shall fail to keep mine; and I fancy that some of the authorities will be extremely interested in what I shall be able to tell them.”

Melun looked helplessly and almost pleadingly at Westerham. “But what you ask now,” he complained, “is quite impossible.”

“Why?”

Melun mumbled, and Westerham's quick mind instinctively found the right reason for the captain's distress. He debated whether he should mention the Hyde Park affair of the night before. Had Bagley told him? He was doubtful. And if Bagley had not told then the revelation might be awkward. He had no wish to drive Melun so hard that he would turn and become obstinately intractable.

Moreover, if he said anything then he would certainly never discover from Melun what hold he had upon Lady Kathleen and her father. It would be better, he reflected, to smooth matters over and let events take their own course. In following his method, he felt assured the opportunity of fathoming the mystery must inevitably come to him.

So when he spoke next to Melun it was a little less curtly. “You will hardly deny,” he said, “that your presence in Lord Penshurst's house must be unwelcome. Do you hesitate to take me there because you think that in so doing I might possibly be tarred with the same brush as yourself?”

“What do you mean?” asked Melun, savagely, and there crept into his eyes an embarrassed, even a hunted look.

“I meant nothing at all except that, in spite of everything, you must make it convenient to have me included among the guests.”

Melun appeared to think deeply for a few moments and then nodded acquiescence. “Very well,” he said grumpily, and closed the matter for that night.

On the following evening Melun arrived at the Walter's Hotel sleek and smiling. His face was as smooth as his shirt-front, and his manner as pleasant as the cut of his coat.

Westerham met him in the hall and nodded to him with an almost friendly smile. Presently they drove down to Downing Street.

When Lady Kathleen had entered into possession of No. 10 as hostess she had turned the rather dowdy old house upside down, and decorators and upholsterers had done all they could to make the old-fashioned building pleasant and graceful.

It was now about half-past ten, and the crush was very great. The Prime Minister, handsome and white-bearded, stood apart with Lady Kathleen to receive the guests.

As Melun pressed forward his gaze darted in all directions as though in the endeavour to find the eyes of friends or at least acquaintances. And many men nodded to him and many women smiled on him.

Though he had been away from England so long, all Westerham's knowledge of great social events came back to him, and he followed Melun easily and unembarrassed by the scores of eyes which looked at him with questioning and admiration.

For his immense height alone attracted attention, while wherever his strange, bright, sea-green glance fell there was left behind a little recollection which would never be quite effaced.

As he skilfully edged his way nearer to the Prime Minister, Westerham suffered a little pang of remorse. It occurred to him that he was taking Lady Kathleen at a somewhat unfair advantage. He had even half a mind to draw back, fearing lest his unlooked-for appearance might cause her an embarrassment which might become obvious to all beholders, but he reflected that a girl who had displayed such courage and such coolness was more than likely to be equal to the occasion. None the less, he endeavoured, so far as he could, to soften the shock of their meeting, and to this end he looked over the heads and shoulders of the tightly-packed people before him, seeking Lady Kathleen's eyes.

Suddenly her wandering glance met his fixed one, and for a second Westerham's heart softened within him as he saw her pupils momentarily shrink and then dilate as though with terror. But the contraction and dilation of her pupils were so swift that no one but an expectant observer would have noted the change. Her face paled a little and then flushed, and Westerham, from the long-continued habit of studying people's emotions, realised with distress that it was the flush of fear rather than the flush of confusion.

By this time Melun had won his way to the Prime Minister's hand, and Westerham followed him closely. Lord Penshurst lifted his shrewd old eyes to Westerham's face with a long, searching gaze. And over his face there swept a sudden change of expression. As Melun had whispered his name the old man's face had taken a hard and almost dogged look, but instantly it softened, and he looked at Westerham long with something akin to wondering pity in his eyes.

Westerham smiled back frankly, laughing a little to himself at the change in the Prime Minister's expression. He was quick to see that Lord Penshurst had evidently regarded him at first as an enemy, as a man to be avoided, as a man introduced by Melun for some sinister motive. Then suddenly, from the very honesty and openness of Westerham's face, the Premier had changed about to the opinion that he was Melun's dupe—that he was a new pigeon fit for the captain's plucking. For Westerham by this time had not a shadow of a doubt that Lord Penshurst was only too intimately acquainted with the extent of Melun's evil doings.

With Lady Kathleen, however, things were otherwise. Westerham had noted that to the other man she had merely bowed, but to him she held out her hand, and for a second grasped his warmly.

The all-observant Prime Minister glanced sidewise at his daughter, and his mobile face changed again in its expression to one of astonishment. Westerham saw the dry old lips tighten in the white beard, and was somewhat taken aback. He guessed, and guessed rightly enough, that Lady Kathleen had not told him of her effort to save her father's honour.

So great was the crush that Westerham had no time to say any word to Lady Kathleen—at least not then. But as he moved away he was conscious that the dark, shining eyes followed him with a little look of appeal.

He was so certain of this that he turned his head about and found his instinct true; so he nodded back with a little friendly smile as though he had known her for many years. It was a smile which seemed to say, “Very well, I will see you by-and-by.”

Melun intercepted the smile and scowled, and almost immediately moved back in a further endeavour to gain Lady Kathleen's side.

Westerham wandered aimlessly to a doorway, and there, following the immemorial privilege of bored young men at a dance or a crush, leant against the lintel and surveyed the scene before him with slightly tolerant amusement.

In half an hour or so the people had thinned a little; all the guests had made their bows, and some of them had even taken their departure.

It was then that Westerham noticed Lady Kathleen and the Prime Minister standing a little apart conversing earnestly in whispers, and at the same time doing their best not to attract attention.

From the corner of his eye Westerham saw Lady Kathleen flush once or twice and was conscious that the Prime Minister stabbed him two or three times with his shrewd old eyes.

Then Melun sauntered up to them, and succeeded in detaching Lady Kathleen from her father. They moved away together, and Westerham wondered what ill-begotten scheme Melun was furthering now. For another ten minutes, therefore, he hung idly in the doorway till he saw Melun come back alone and take the Prime Minister on one side. They were conversing rapidly, and Westerham could plainly see that Lord Penshurst was by no means pleased. There was, indeed, on his face an expression of cold rage such as Westerham had never seen on any man's face before. Melun, too, appeared a trifle disconcerted, and this was a joy to Westerham, for he was right in supposing that Melun had hoped to see fear rather than anger in Lord Penshurst's face.

Westerham was, however, not so interested in this conversation as he was in the finding of Lady Kathleen, so he moved across the room and through the doorway in search of the Premier's daughter.

The room beyond was crowded, and Westerham passed on to a third room in which there were fewer people. Still he could discern no signs of Lady Kathleen.

But just ahead of him he saw the dark entrance to what apparently was a landing. He moved towards this, and found himself suddenly face to face with her. She was sitting almost huddled up in a little chair at the foot of the staircase.

As she saw him approach she lifted up both her hands as though to thrust him away, and her face from deadly white flushed to a bright crimson.

“No, no!” she cried in a low tone, “let matters rest as they are. I shook hands with you just now, but I did not know that you had come—with that man.”

“You think he is my friend?” asked Westerham, gently.

“How can I doubt it?” asked Lady Kathleen.

“Well,” said Westerham, with a quiet little laugh, “I admit that he appears to be, but that is to suit my purpose and to gain my own ends.”

“I thought so,” she murmured.

“Yes, yes,” replied Westerham, quickly, “but don't misunderstand me—my ends may be selfish, but they are not criminal.”

Lady Kathleen started violently.

Westerham glanced about him to see that they were unobserved; he found that they were quite alone.

“I must speak quickly,” he said, “as I know it is impossible for you to stay here long, but please hear me out.

“That night,” he nodded in the direction of the Park, “I knew nothing. I do not know very much now, except that I have discovered a connecting link between Bagley and Melun. Why they persecute you and your father I do not know; I wish I did, for I would then, perhaps, be able to help you. These men are knaves and cowards, and they are also fools. I do not want to boast, but one good man could easily defeat them. Why not tell me what troubles you?”

Lady Kathleen looked at him appealingly and doubtfully, then she rose to her feet.

“I must not. I do not know who you are, or even what your name is, and although you seem to be Melun's friend, I feel that I might trust you; but, oh! if you were persecuted as we are persecuted you would trust no man.”

Westerham was about to persuade her further, but at this moment her father came quickly through the doorway.

“Kathleen!” he cried.

The girl started up and caught her father's arm. The old man turned quickly towards Westerham; his face was ablaze with passion.

“As for you, sir,” he cried in a low voice, “leave my house, leave my house at once.”

Westerham threw out a deprecating hand.

“If you will only hear me, Lord Penshurst.”

“I have told that scoundrel Melun that I will have no further dealing with him or any of his crew.”

“But I—” urged Westerham.

“Be silent,” cried the Prime Minister in a voice of suppressed fury. “Do you think that you have not heaped sufficient dishonour on my head already? But there is a point beyond which you shall not go. I will not have my house and my daughter degraded in this way.”

It took all Westerham's self-control to master himself now. It cut him like a whip to feel himself regarded as of the same breed as Melun. But he saw it would be utterly useless and would only provoke a scene to argue with the bitter old man. So, making a formal little bow to Lady Kathleen, he left them.