to make it
clear to the barmaid what the matter was, and the 'gov'nor' being out,
they spent some more precious time wondering 'what--EVER' was to be
done! in which the two customers returning from outside joined
with animation. There were also moral remarks and other irrelevant
contributions. There were conflicting ideas of telling the police and
pursuing the flying couple on a horse. That made ten minutes. Then
Stephen, the waiter, who had shown Hoopdriver up, came down and lit
wonderful lights and started quite a fresh discussion by the simple
question "WHICH?" That turned ten minutes into a quarter of an hour.
And in the midst of this discussion, making a sudden and awestricken
silence, appeared Bechamel in the hall beyond the bar, walked with a
resolute air to the foot of the staircase, and passed out of sight.
You conceive the backward pitch of that exceptionally shaped cranium?
Incredulous eyes stared into one another's in the bar, as his paces,
muffled by the stair carpet, went up to the landing, turned, reached the
passage and walked into the dining-room overhead.

"It wasn't that one at all, miss," said the ostler, "I'd SWEAR"

"Well, that's Mr. Beaumont," said the barmaid, "--anyhow."

Their conversation hung comatose in the air, switched up by Bechamel.
They listened together. His feet stopped. Turned. Went out of the
diningroom. Down the passage to the bedroom. Stopped again.

"Poor chap!" said the barmaid. "She's a wicked woman!"

"Sssh!" said Stephen.

After a pause Bechamel went back to the dining-room. They heard a chair
creak under him. Interlude of conversational eyebrows.

"I'm going up," said Stephen, "to break the melancholy news to him."

Bechamel looked up from a week-old newspaper as, without knocking,
Stephen entered. Bechamel's face suggested a different expectation. "Beg
pardon, sir," said Stephen, with a diplomatic cough.

"Well?" said Bechamel, wondering suddenly if Jessie had kept some of her
threats. If so, he was in for an explanation. But he had it ready. She
was a monomaniac. "Leave me alone with her," he would say; "I know how
to calm her."

"Mrs. Beaumont," said Stephen.

"WELL?"

"Has gone."

He rose with a fine surprise. "Gone!" he said with a half laugh.

"Gone, sir. On her bicycle."

"On her bicycle! Why?"

"She went, sir, with Another Gentleman."

This time Bechamel was really startled. "An--other Gentlemen! WHO?"

"Another gentleman in brown, sir. Went in