eet
back to my head.

"Most men would go, Mr. Bayne," she flung at me, her red lips scornful.
"But then, most men wouldn't have come, of course. And all you will
accomplish is to make me dine up here in this--this wretched, stuffy
room." Before I could lift a hand in protest, she had turned, mounted
the stairs again, and vanished. The door--shall I own it?--slammed.

CHAPTER XIV

THE PLOT THICKENS

Presently, summoned by the hostess, I went to my lonely meal in a mood
that nobody on earth had cause to envy me. One thing was certain: Should
it ever be disclosed that Miss Esme Falconer was not a spy, I should
lack courage to go on living. Remembering the coolly brazen line I had
taken and the assumptions she had drawn from it, I could think of no
desert wide enough to hide my confusion, no pit sufficiently deep to
shelter my utterly crestfallen head.

In any case, I had not managed my attack at all triumphantly. From the
first skirmish the adversary had retired with all the honors on her
side. Carrying the matter with a high hand, she had dazed me into brief
inaction, and then, as I gave signs of rally, had retreated in what
to say the least was a highly strategic way. Well, let her go for the
moment! She could scarcely escape me. I would see the thing through, I
told myself with growing stubbornness; but I didn't feel that the doing
of a civic duty was what it is cracked up to be. Not at all!

I felt the need of a cocktail with a kick to it. But I did not get one.
However, the cabbage soup was eatable, if primitive; and, in fact, no
part of the dinner could be called distinctly bad.

Having finished my coffee, I went outside feeling more cheerful. It was
dark now. A lantern swinging from the entrance cast flickering darts
of light about the courtyard, the rough paving-stones, the odd old
galleries and stairs. Upstairs a candle shone through the window of Miss
Falconer's room. In the kitchen by the great chimney place I could see a
leather-clad chauffeur eating, the same fellow that had driven the blue
car from the rue St.-Dominique; and while I watched, madame emerged,
bearing the girl's dinner tray, which with much groaning and panting she
carried up the winding stairs.

It was foolish of Miss Falconer, I thought, to insist on this comedy.
She might better have dined with me, heard what I had to say, and
yielded with a good grace. However, let her have her dinner in peace
and solitude, I resolved magnanimo