and hat and
stealthily opened the door again. He peered out.... Yes, there was hope
and an object, for he could see, some hundred and fifty yards away, the
figures of Beatrice and her escort. With a gasp Mr. Hedderwick
muttered, "_I will_!" He pulled the door to behind him and set out
furtively, but with a resolute swiftness, in pursuit.

CHAPTER IX

ENTER TONY WILD

Tony Wild, whose address was The Albany, and who enjoyed an unearned
income of two thousand a year, stood on the steps of the Tivoli
Music-Hall at half past ten, smoking. His face, which was passably
attractive, had temporarily lost its usual good-humor, and he puffed his
cigarette slowly as if it was more of a task than a pleasure. This,
indeed, it was; for he had consumed seventeen since getting out of bed
at ten o'clock that morning, and he smoked more from habit than anything
else. He was a young man of twenty-six who pursued happiness, or rather
distraction, on the accepted lines: dinners, dances and the stage formed
his daily round, but with the zest of youth or cynicism he constantly
searched for new thrills. Experience was his god, and it must be
confessed that he had had more than a fair share of sensations. He had
been jilted, married (luckily it proved a bigamous union; as his "wife,"
a Covent Garden chorister, had nothing but her prettiness to recommend
her; and Tony had been immensely relieved when her husband reappeared
after serving seven years at Portland), made a descent in a submarine,
gone up in a balloon, and driven a car in the Gordon-Bennett race. He
had flown in an aeroplane once for the sake of a new thrill, but
subsequently determined that it would be a pity further to risk two
thousand a year. These were but a few of his distractions. The only
experience he had never tried was work.

On the whole, he had enjoyed himself. There were times, of course, when
he felt that life was a little empty, a little dull; but on such
unfortunate occasions he made haste to bring himself up to the scratch
by searching for a fresh adventure. His most desperate expedient up to
date had been to enlist, but the discipline and routine of the barracks
made even ennui seem desirable, and he bought himself out after
twenty-four hours of agony. This evening he was feeling distinctly dull,
for the day had been singularly profitless. A solitary breakfast at
eleven had been followed by a perfunctory glance over _The Daily Mail_.
Even that stimulat