heson's
approach. Macheson glanced towards him with a sudden impulse of
indignant apprehension. It was Stephen Hurd, in irreproachable evening
clothes save only for his black tie, and his companion was Letty.

Macheson stopped before the table. He scarcely knew what to say or how
to say it, but he was determined not to be intimidated by Hurd's curt
nod.

"So you are up in town, Letty," he said gravely. "Is your mother with
you?"

The girl giggled hysterically.

"Oh, no!" she declared. "Mother can't bear travelling. A lot of us came
up this morning at six o'clock on a day excursion, six shillings each."

"And what time does the train go back?" Macheson asked quickly.

"At twelve o'clock," the girl answered, "or as soon afterwards as they
can get it off. It was terribly full coming up."

Macheson was to some extent relieved. At any rate there was nothing
further that he could do. He bent over the girl kindly.

"I hope you have had a nice day," he said, "and won't be too tired when
you get home. These excursions are rather hard work. Remember me to your
mother."

He exchanged a civil word with the girl's companion, who was taciturn
almost to insolence. Then he passed on and joined Holderness, who was
waiting near the door.

"An oddly assorted couple, your friends," he remarked, as they struggled
into their coats.

Macheson nodded.

"The girl was my landlady's daughter at Thorpe, and the young man's the
son of the agent there," he said.

"Engaged?" Holderness asked.

"I'm--afraid not," Macheson answered. "She's up on an excursion--for the
day--goes back at twelve."

"I suppose he's a decent fellow--the agent's son?" Holderness remarked.
"She seems such a child."

"I suppose he is," Macheson repeated. "I don't care for him very much,
Dick; I suppose I'm an evil-minded person, but I hate leaving them."

Holderness looked back into the restaurant.

"You can't interfere," he said. "It's probably a harmless frolic enough.
Come on!"

CHAPTER XVI

THE NIGHT SIDE OF LONDON

"No stalls left," Holderness declared, turning away from the box office
at the Alhambra. "We'll go in the promenade. We can find a chair there
if we want to sit down."

Macheson followed him up the stairs and into the heavily carpeted
promenade. His memory of the evening, a memory which clung to him for
long afterwards, seemed like a phantasmagoria of thrilling music, a
stage packed with marvellously dressed women, whose mo