e
could see that her hands were trembling. Her escort was assisting her,
but was evidently as astonished as ourselves. "Perhaps," he suggested
hopefully, "if you wait a minute it will pass off."

"No, no," she gasped, still hurriedly wrestling with her cloak. "Don't
you see I'm suffocating here--I want air. You can follow!" She began
to move off, her face turned fixedly in the direction of the door. We
instinctively looked there--perhaps for Tournelli. There was no one.
Nevertheless, the Editor and Quartermaster had half-risen from their
seats.

"Helloo!" said Manners suddenly. "There's Tom just come in. Call him!"

Tom, evidently recalled from his brief furlough by the proprietor on
account of the press of custom, had just made his appearance from the
kitchen.

"Tom, where's Tournelli?" asked the Lawyer hurriedly, but following the
retreating woman with his eyes.

"Skipped, they say. Somebody insulted him," said Tom curtly.

"You didn't see him hanging round outside, eh? Swearing vengeance?"
asked the Editor.

"No," said Tom scornfully.

The woman had reached the door, and darted out of it as her escort
paused a moment at the counter to throw down a coin. Yet in that moment
she had hurried before him through the passage into the street. I
turned breathlessly to the window. For an instant her face, white as a
phantom's, appeared pressed rigidly against the heavy plate-glass, her
eyes staring with a horrible fascination back into the room--I even
imagined at us. Perhaps, as it was evident that Tournelli was not with
her, she fancied he was still here; perhaps she had mistaken Tom for
him! However, her escort quickly rejoined her; their shadows passed the
window together--they were gone.

Then a pistol-shot broke the quiet of the street.

The Editor and Quartermaster rose and ran to the door. Manners rose
also, but lingered long enough to whisper to me, "Don't lose sight of
Tom," and followed them. But to my momentary surprise no one else
moved. I had forgotten, in the previous excitement, that in those days
a pistol-shot was not unusual enough to attract attention. A few raised
their heads at the sound of running feet on the pavement, and the
flitting of black shadows past the windows. Tom had not stirred, but,
napkin in hand, and eyes fixed on vacancy, was standing, as I had seen
him once before, in an attitude of listless expectation.

In a few minutes Manners returned. I thought he glanced oddly at Tom,