e table. His face was dark with anger.

"I said not before ten to-night," he muttered.

Again she spoke in his ear, so softly that the sound of her voice itself
scarcely travelled even as far as where Hamel was sitting. Mr. Fentolin
looked steadfastly for a moment at his sister-in-law and from her to
Hamel. Then he backed his chair away front the table.

"I shall have to ask to be excused for three minutes," he said. "I must
speak upon the telephone. It is a call from some one who declares that
they have important news."

He turned the steering-wheel of his chair, and with Miss Price by his
side passed across the dining-room, out of the Oasis of rose-shaded
lights into the shadows, and through the open door. From there he turned
his head before he disappeared, as though to watch his guest. Mrs.
Fentolin was busy fondling one of her dogs, which she had raised to her
lap, and Hamel was watching her with a tolerant smile.

"Koto, you little idiot, why can't you sit up like your sister? Was its
tail in the way, then! Mr. Hamel," she whispered under her breath, so
softly that he barely caught the words, although he was only a few feet
away, "don't look at me. I feel as though we were being watched all the
time. You can destroy that piece of paper in your pocket. All that it
says is 'Leave here immediately after dinner.'"

Hamel sipped his wine in a nonchalant fashion. His fingers had strayed
over the silky coat of the little dog, which she had held out as though
for his inspection.

"How can I?" he asked. "What excuse can I make?"

"Invent one," she insisted swiftly. "Leave here before ten o'clock.
Don't let anything keep you. And destroy that piece of paper in your
pocket, if you can--now."

"But, Mrs. Fentolin--" he began.

She caught up one of her absurd little pets and held it to her mouth.

"Meekins is in the doorway," she whispered.

"Don't argue with me, please. You are in danger you know nothing about.
Pass me the cigarettes."

She leaned back in her chair, smoking quickly. She held one of the dogs
on her knee and talked rubbish to it. Hamel watched her, leaning back
in his carved oak chair, and he found it hard to keep the pity from
his eyes. The woman was playing a part, playing it with desperate and
pitiful earnestness, a part which seemed the more tragical because of
the soft splendour of their surroundings. From the shadowy walls,
huge, dimly-seen pictures hung about them, a strange and yet impres