nd
finishing alone.

"Not a bit, old thing, if you want to go anywhere," she said.

He apologised. "Arnold--he's our padre--is likely to be at the club, and
I promised I'd walk home with him," he lied remorselessly. "It's beastly
rude, I know, but I thought you'd understand."

She looked at him, and laughed. "I believe I do," she said.

He stopped the car and got out, settling with the man, and glancing up at
a clock. "You'll be in at nine-forty-five," he said, "as proper as
possible. And thank you so much for coming."

"Thank you, Solomon," she replied. "It's been just topping. Thanks
awfully for taking me. And come in to tea soon, won't you?" He promised
and held out his hand. She pressed it, and waved out of the window as the
car drove off. And no sooner was it in motion than he cursed himself for
a fool. Yet he knew why he had done as he had, there, in the middle of
the town. He knew that he feared she would kiss him again--as before.

Not noticing where he went, he set off through the streets, making,
unconsciously almost, for the sea, and the dark boulevards that led from
the gaily lit centre of the city towards it. He walked slowly, his mind a
chaos of thoughts, and so ran into a curious adventure.

As he passed a side-street he heard a man's uneven steps on the pavement,
a girl's voice, a curse, and the sound of a fall. Then followed an
exclamation in another woman's voice, and a quick sentence in French.

Peter hesitated a minute, and then turned down the road to where a small
group was faintly visible. As he reached it, he saw that a couple of
street girls were bending over a man who lay sprawling on the ground, and
he quickened his steps to a run. His boots were rubber-soled, and all but
noiseless. "Here, I say," he said as he came up. "Let that man alone.
What are you doing?" he added in halting French. One of the two girls
gave a little scream, but the other straightened herself, and Peter
perceived that he knew her. It was Louise, of Travalini's.

"What are you doing?" he demanded again in English. "Is he hurt?"

"Non, non, monsieur," said Louise. "He is but 'zig-zag.' We found him a
little way down the street, and he cannot walk easily. So we help him. If
the gendarme--how do you call him?--the red-cap, see him, maybe he will
get into trouble. But now you come. You will doubtless help him.
Vraiment, he is in luck. We go now, monsieur."

Peter bent over the fallen man. He did not know him, but s