Saton turned out of Bond Street, and climbed the stairs of a little tea-shop with the depressed feeling of a man who is expiating an offence which he bitterly repents. Violet was waiting for him at one of the tables shut off from the main room by a sort of Japanese matting hanging from the ceiling. He resigned his stick and hat with a sigh to one of the trim waitresses, and sat down opposite her.

“My dear Violet,” he said, “this is an unexpected pleasure. I thought that Wednesday was quite one of your busiest days.”

“It is generally,” she answered. “To tell you the truth,” she added, leaning across the table, “I was jolly glad to get away. I have a kind of fear, Bertrand, that we are going to be a little too busy.”

“What do you mean?” he asked sharply.

She nodded her head mysteriously.

“There have been one or two people in, in the last few days, asking questions which I don’t understand,” she told him. “One of them, I am pretty sure, was a detective. He didn’t get much change out of me,” she added, in a self-satisfied tone, “but there’s someone got their knife into us. You remember the trouble down in the Marylebone Road, when you——”

“Don’t!” he interrupted. “I hate to think of that time.”

“Well, I tell you I believe there is something of the sort brewing again,” the woman said. “I’ll tell you more about it later on.”

The waitress brought their tea, which Violet carefully prepared.

“Two pieces of sugar,” she said, “and no cream. You see I haven’t forgotten, although it is not often we have tea together now, Bertrand. You are becoming too fashionable, I suppose,” she added with a little frown.

“You know it isn’t that,” he answered hastily. “It’s my work, nothing but my work. Go on with what you were telling me, Violet.”

“You needn’t look so scared,” she said, glancing round to be sure that they were not overheard. “The only thing is that Madame must be told at once, and we shall all have to be careful for a little time. I shut up shop for the day as soon as I tumbled to the thing.”

“I wonder if this is Rochester’s doings,” he muttered.

“The husband of the lady?” Violet enquired.

Saton nodded.

“He is my enemy,” he said. “Nothing would make him happier than to have the power to strike a blow like this, and to identify us with the place in any way.”

“I don’t see how they could do that,” she said meditatively. “I should be the poor sufferer, I suppose, and you may be sure I shouldn’t be like that other girl, who gave you away. You are not afraid of that, are you, Bertrand? Things are different between us. We are engaged to be married. You do not forget that, Bertrand?”

“Of course I do not,” he answered.

“Well,” she said, “we won’t talk about the past. You are safe so far as I am concerned—for the present, at any rate. But Madame must know, and your friends in Charing Cross Road.”

“We will close the office to-morrow for a little time,” Saton declared. “It’s no use running risks like this.”

“The old lady must have made a tidy pile out of it,” Violet declared, flourishing an over-scented handkerchief. “If she takes my advice, she will go quiet for a little time. I can feel trouble when it’s about, and I have felt it the last few days.”

“It is very good of you, Violet, to have sent for me at once,” he said. “I know you won’t mind if I hurry away. It is very important that I see Madame.”

“Of course,” she agreed. “But when will you take me out to dinner? To-night or to-morrow night?”

“To-morrow night,” he promised, eager to escape. “If anything happens that I can’t, I’ll let you know.”

She laid her hand upon his arm as they descended the stairs.

“Bertrand,” she said, “if I were you, I’d make it to-morrow night....”

He called a taximeter cab, and drove rapidly to Berkeley Square. In the room where she usually sat he found Rachael, looking through a pile of foreign newspapers.

“Well?” she said, peering into his face. “You have bad news. I can see that. What is it?”

“Helga has just sent for me,” he answered. “She says that she has had one or two mysterious visitors to-day and yesterday. One of them she feels sure was a detective.”

“Huntley has just telephoned up,” Rachael said calmly. “Something of the same sort of thing happened at the office in the Charing Cross Road. Huntley acted like a man of sense. He closed it up at once, destroyed all papers, and sent Dorrington over to Paris by the morning train.”

Saton sat down, and buried his face in his hands.

“Rachael,” he said, “this must stop. I cannot bear the anxiety of it. It is terrible to feel to-day that one is stretching out toward the great things, and to-morrow that one is finding the money to live by fooling people, by charlatanism, by roguery. Think if we were ever connected with these places, if even a suspicion of it got about! Think how narrow our escape was before! Remember that I have even stood in the prisoner’s dock, and escaped only through your cleverness, and an accident. It might happen again, Rachael!”

“It shall not,” she answered. “I would go there myself first. It is well for you to talk, Bertrand, but you and I are neither of us fond of simple things. We must live. We must have money.”

“We live extravagantly,” he said.

“All my life I have lived extravagantly,” she answered. “Why should I change now? I have but a few years to live. I cannot bear small rooms, or cheap servants, or bad cooking.”

“We have some money left,” he said. “Come with me into the country. We can live there for very little. Soon my book will be ready. Then the lectures will begin. There will be money enough when people begin to understand.”

“No!” she said. “There is only one way. I have spoken of it to you before. You must marry that foolish girl Lois Champneyes.”

“What do you know about her?” he asked, looking up, startled.

“I have made inquiries,” Rachael answered. “It is the usual thing in the countries I know of. She will be of age in a short time, and she will have one hundred and seventy thousand pounds. Upon that you can live until our time comes, and you can afford to keep this house going.”

“I do not want to marry,” he said.

Her hand shot out towards him—an accusing hand; her eyes flashed fire as she leaned forward, gripping the arm of the chair with her other fingers.

“Listen,” she said, “I took you from the gutter. I saved you from starvation. I showed you the way to ease and luxury. I taught you things which have set your brain working, which shall fashion for you, if you dare to follow it, the way to greatness. I saved your life. I planted your feet upon the earth. Your life is mine. Your future is mine. What is this sacrifice that I demand? Nothing! Don’t refuse me. I warn you, Bertrand, don’t refuse me! There are limits to my patience as there are limits to my generosity and my affection. If you refuse, it can be but for one reason, and that reason you will not dare to tell me. Do you refuse? Answer me, now, I will have no more evasions.”

“She would not marry me,” he said. “I have not seen her for days.”

“Where is she?” Rachael demanded.

“In the country, at Beauleys,” he answered. “The Rochesters have all left town yesterday or to-day, and she went with them.”

“Then into the country we go,” she declared. “It is an opportune time, too. We shall be out of the way if troubles come from these interfering people. I do not ask you again, Bertrand, whether you will or will not marry this girl. For the first time I exercise my rights over you. I demand that you marry her. Be as faithless as you like. You are as fickle as a man can be, and as shallow. Make love to her for a year, and treat her as these Englishmen treat their housekeepers, if you will. But marry her you must! It is the money we need—the money! What is that?”

The bell was ringing from a telephone instrument upon the table. Saton lifted it to his ear.

“There is a trunk call for you,” a voice said. “Please hold the line.”

Saton waited. Soon a familiar voice came.

“Who is that?” it asked.

“Bertrand Saton,” Saton answered.

“Listen,” the voice said. “I am Huntley. I speak from Folkestone. I am crossing to-night to Paris. Dorrington is already on ahead. Someone has been employing detectives to track us down. It commenced with that letter—the one for which you settled terms yourself. You hear?”

“I hear,” Saton answered. “Was it necessary for you, too, to go?”

“I cannot tell,” Huntley answered. “All I know is that I have done pretty well the last two years, and I am not inclined to figure in the police courts. If the thing blows over, I’ll be back in a few weeks. Every paper of importance has been destroyed. I believe that you and Madame are perfectly safe. At the same time, take my tip. Go slow! I’m off. I’ve only a minute for the boat.”

Saton laid down the receiver on the instrument.

“If it must be,” he said, turning to Rachael, “I will go down to Blackbird’s Nest to-morrow.”