o be more careful, he told himself
severely. He carefully directed the letter and went out to post it,
then he went to bed in the little room with the low ceiling and lay
awake half the night.

Now the letter had gone he wished he had never sent it; after all, it
was cheating Esther. It was not fair to make her write to him; he felt
that he had behaved like a cur ... he tossed and turned from side to
side. Perhaps she would not write! He almost hoped she would not. When
at last he dozed off it was almost daybreak; when he woke it was
eleven o'clock and the sunshine was pouring into his room.

He had a bit of a headache and felt wretched; he drank four cups of
strong coffee and went out.

He avoided the popular thoroughfares; he sauntered about till lunch
time and then went back to the hotel. Apparently the waiter had spoken
the truth when he said the place was almost empty, for only two of the
twenty tables were occupied beside his own.

Micky felt bored; he made up his mind to tell Philips what he thought
of his recommendation when he got back to London. He slept all the
afternoon, then dressed and went off to dinner at the hotel where he
and Driver stayed when they were last in Paris. Here at least was a
welcome; most of the waiters recognised him; the attention was
excellent, and he got a decent dinner. The hotel was full, but though
Micky looked suspiciously at every one who came in, he recognised
nobody.

He wondered how long he had got to stay in Paris. Esther could not get
his letter and send a reply that would arrive in less than three days;
he calculated that he could not get back to London before Sunday
morning.

And Esther was going to Mrs. Ashton's on Saturday.

He had just finished his dinner when the swing doors opened and a man
came into the room with a lady in evening dress.

Micky looked at them, and his heart began to race--for the man was
Raymond Ashton, and the woman, Tubby Clare's little widow.

Ashton saw Micky at once, and his face fell into almost comical lines
of dismay, but he pulled himself together at once and spoke to the
woman beside him.

Micky knew Mrs. Clare slightly; he rose and went towards them.

"I heard you were in Paris," he said. He shook hands with Mrs. Clare;
she was rather a pretty little woman, small and plump, with round,
meaningless eyes and a friendly smile.

"We're going to the opera," Ashton said. "Mrs. Clare is not staying
here, but she very kindly consen