mour."

"Did you get rid of him easily?"

"Well, to tell the truth, Sir Seymour, he tried to be obstinate. I
think--if you'll excuse me--I certainly think that he was slightly under
the influence of drink. Not drunk, you'll understand, not at all as much
as that! But still--"

"Yes--yes. If he comes back give him that note. And--do you think it
would be wise to give him a hint that any further annoyance might lead
to the intervention of the police? The young lady is very much upset
and frightened. Do you think you might drop a word or two--at your
discretion?"

"I'll manage it, Sir Seymour. Leave it to me!"

"Very good of you, Henriques. Good night."

"Good night, Sir Seymour. Always very glad to do anything for you."

"Thank you."

As Sir Seymour stepped out into Brook Street he glanced swiftly up and
down the thoroughfare. But he did not see the man he was looking for. He
stood still for a moment. There was hesitation in his mind. The natural
thing, he felt, would be to go at once to Berkeley Square and to have
a talk with Adela. It was late. He was beginning to feel hungry. Adela
would give him some dinner. But--could he go to Adela just now? No; he
could not. And he hailed a cab and drove home. Something the beast
had said had made a horrible impression upon the faithful lover, an
impression which remained with him, which seemed to be eating its way,
like a powerful acid, into his very soul, corroding, destroying.

Adela--young Craven!

Was it possible? Was there then never to be an end to that mania, which
had been Adela's curse, and the tragedy of the man who had loved her
with the long love which is so rare among men?

There was bitterness in Sir Seymour's heart that night, and that
bitterness sent him home, to the home that was no real home, to the
solitude that _she_ had given him.

CHAPTER XV

On the following morning, true to his word, Sir Seymour visited Scotland
Yard, and had a talk with a certain authority there who was a very old
friend of his. The authority asked a few questions, but no questions
that were indiscreet, or that Sir Seymour was unable to answer
without betraying Lady Sellingworth's confidence. The sequel to this
conversation was that a tall, thin, lemon-coloured man, with tight lips
and small, dull-looking eyes, which saw much more than most bright eyes
ever see, accompanied Sir Seymour in a cab to Glebe Place. They arrived
there about half-past eleven. Sir Seymour rang