she said firmly, “I will not marry you!”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“On that point,” he answered, “I am content to differ from you. Anything else?”
She stamped her foot.
“I do not care for you! I do not wish to marry you!” she repeated. “I am going away, and I forbid you to follow me.”
“No good!” he declared, stolidly. “I am past all that.”
She held up her finger, and glanced backward out of the window.
“It is the Baroness,” she said. “I must go and open the door.”
For one moment she lay passive in his arms; then he could have sworn that her lips returned his kiss. She was there when they heard the turning of a latch-key in the door. With a little cry she slipped away and left him alone. The outer door was thrown open, and the Baroness stood upon the threshold.
XX. STABBED THROUGH THE HEART
The Baroness recognized Wrayson with a little shrug of the shoulders.
“Ah! my dear Mr. Wrayson,” she exclaimed, “this is very kind of you. You have been keeping Louise company, I hope. And see what droll things happen! It is your friend, Mr. Barnes, who has brought me home this evening, and who will take a whisky and soda before he goes. Is it not so, my friend?”
She turned around, but there was no immediate response. The Baroness looked over the banisters and beheld her escort in the act of ascending.
“Coming right along,” he called out cheerfully. “It was the cabman who tried to stop me. He wanted more than his fare. Found he’d tackled the wrong Johnny this time.”
Mr. Sydney Barnes came slowly into view. He was wearing an evening suit, obviously too large for him, a made-up white tie had slipped round underneath his ear, a considerable fragment of red silk handkerchief was visible between his waistcoat and much crumpled white shirt. An opera hat, also too large for him, he was wearing very much on the back of his head, and he was smoking a very black cigar, from which he had failed to remove the band. He frowned when he saw Wrayson, but followed the Baroness into the room with a pronounced swagger.
“You two need no introduction, of course,” the Baroness remarked. “I am not going to tell you where I found Mr. Barnes. I do not expect to be very much longer in England, so perhaps I am not so careful as I ought to be. Louise, if she knew, would be shocked. Now, Mr. Wrayson, do not hurry away. You will take some whisky and soda? I am afraid that my young friend has not been very hospitable.”
“You are very kind,” Wrayson said. “To tell you the truth, I was rather hoping to see Miss Fitzmaurice again. She disappeared rather abruptly.”
The Baroness shook her finger at him in mock reproach.
“You have been misbehaving,” she declared. “Never mind. I will go and see what I can do for you.”
She stood for a moment before a looking-glass arranging her hair, and then left the room humming a light tune. Sydney Barnes, with his hands in his pockets, flung himself into an easy-chair.
“I say,” he began, “I don’t quite see what you’re doing here.”
Wrayson looked at him for a moment in supercilious surprise.
“I scarcely see,” he answered, “how my movements concern you.”
Mr. Barnes was unabashed.
“Oh! chuck it,” he declared. “You know very well what I’m thinking of. To tell you the truth, I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s some connection between this household and my brothers affairs. That’s why I’m palling on to the Baroness. She’s a fine woman—class, you know, and all that sort of thing, but what I want is the shino! You tumble?”
Wrayson shrugged his shoulders slightly.
“I wish you every success,” he said. “Personally, I think that you are wasting your time here.”
“Perhaps so,” Barnes answered. “I’m taking my own risks.”
Wrayson turned away, and at that moment the Baroness re- entered the room.
“My friend,” she said, addressing Wrayson, “I can do nothing for you. Whether you have offended Louise or made her too happy, I cannot say. But she will not come down. You will not see her again to-night.”
“I am sorry,” Wrayson answered. “She is going away to- morrow, I understand?”
The Baroness sighed.
“Alas!” she declared, “I must not answer any questions. Louise has forbidden it.”
Wrayson took up his hat.
“In that case,” he remarked, “there remains nothing for me but to wish you good night!”
There was a cab on the rank opposite, and Wrayson, after a moment’s hesitation, entered it and was driven to the club. He scarcely expected to find any one there, but he was in no mood for sleep, and the thought of his own empty rooms chilled him. Somewhat to his surprise, however, he found the smoking-room full. The central figure of the most important group was the Colonel, his face beaming with good-nature, and his cheeks just a little flushed. He welcomed Wrayson almost boisterously.
“Come along, Herbert,” he cried. “Plenty of room. What’ll you have to drink, and have you heard the news?”
“Whisky and soda,” Wrayson answered, sinking into an easy- chair, “and I haven’t heard any news.”
The Colonel took his cigar from his mouth, and leaned forward in his chair. He had the appearance of a man who was striving to appear more grave than he felt.
“You remember the old chap we saw dining at Luigi’s to- night—Bentham, I think you said his name was?”
Wrayson nodded.
“Of course! What about him?”
“He’s dead!” the Colonel declared.
Wrayson jumped out of his chair.
“Nonsense!” he exclaimed. “You don’t mean it, Colonel!”
“Unfortunately, I do,” the Colonel answered. “He was found dead on the stairs leading to his office, about ten o’clock to-night. A most interesting case. The murder, presuming it was a murder, appears to have been committed—”
Wrayson was suddenly pale.
“Murder!” he repeated. “Colonel, do you mean this?”
The Colonel, who hated being interrupted, answered a little testily.
“My
