— I feel ill,” he said faintly. His hand fell limply to his side. He took a staggering step toward the door.
Van Ingen was beside him instantly.
“Lean on me, sir,” he urged quietly. He passed a steadying hand through Grayson’s, and guided him toward the passage.
“We’ll have you out of this in a jiffy,” he said cheerfully. “It’s the confounded stifling air of these places! It’s enough to make a grampus faint! Lady Dinsmore, will you look after Doris?”
“No! No!” the girl exclaimed. Her face was white and strained and fear darkened her eyes. In her distress she had risen, and stood, clasping tightly her father’s arm.
“We’ll all go together! Please, dear!” Her voice and eyes pleaded. She seemed trying to convey a hidden meaning, a secret urgency.
“Nonsense!” Grayson, still pallid and frowning, leaned heavily upon Van Ingen’s shoulder. Tiny beads of perspiration stood out upon his temples but his voice was stronger.
“Don’t make a scene, my girl.” He nodded toward the stalls, where already curious lorgnettes were beginning to be levelled at their box.
“Sit down!”
Doris obeyed mutely, her mobile lips quivering as she sought to suppress her emotion. She was conscious of a shiver which seemed to spread from her heart throughout her limbs. The oppression of a nameless fear took possession of her; it weighed her down. She sat very still, gripping her fan.
“I’ll be around fit as ever in the morning. ‘Night, Lady Dinsmore. Take care of my girl.”
Grayson spoke jerkily with a strong effort.
Lady Patricia Dinsmore regarded him coldly. She disliked the man cordially, and made no bones of it. In her heart she had never forgiven him for wedding her foolish younger sister, the family beauty, who had died at Doris’ birth far away from her kith and kin in the desolate wilds of New York.
“Goodnight, Gerald,” she said drily. “Try to get a little sleep.” She turned to the younger man. “Put him to bed, Cord, and cut all the wires around the Savoy, so he won’t call up those wretched brokers. I think he’s trying to gobble the whole English market.”
She marked sharply the effect of her shaft. Grayson turned a shade paler. He clutched Van Ingen’s arm.
“Get me out of here!” he whispered hoarsely. Lady Patricia viewed their departing backs with a fleeting ironical smile.
“Your father, my dear,” she murmured to Doris, “is a very remarkable man.”
Out in the fresh air, Grayson revived amazingly. His feebleness disappeared as if by magic, and he stepped out briskly. He nodded to a hansom in the rank and the man drew in to the opening.
“The Savoy,” cried Grayson.
He sprang in hastily.
Van Ingen made as if to follow, but Grayson held the apron door securely.
“No need in the world for you to accompany me, dear boy,” he exclaimed, smiling. “Go back. I feel quite braced already. It was that devilish stuffiness inside — a momentary seizure. Goodnight!”
He waved his hand and sank back. The hansom started forward with a jerk, and the young man retraced his steps to the theatre, frowning thoughtfully.
Ten minutes later Grayson thrust up the trap.
“You may drop me here,” he called. He descended and paid his fare. “I’ll walk the rest of the way,” he remarked casually.
“Bit thickish on foot tonight, sir,” offered the driver respectfully. “Better let me set you down at the hotel.” But his fare was already lost in the enveloping gloom.
Grayson wrapped his muffler closely about his chin, pulled down his hat to shadow his eyes, and hurried along like a man with a set destination. Presently he halted and signalled to a cab, crawling along close to the curb. Grayson scrutinised it keenly. The horse looked strong.
“Can you take me some distance?” he asked the driver.
“Take ye far’s you got the coin!”
Grayson glanced about him furtively. “As far as this?” He stepped forward and gave an address in a carefully lowered voice.
The driver leaned far down from his high box and peered into his fare’s face.
“Not there!” he muttered.
Grayson held out a sovereign silently. The driver shook his head.
“It’s fair worth a man’s life on a night like this.”
Two sovereigns gleamed in Grayson’s bare outstretched palm.
“I’ll double it if you drive fast,” he offered.
“All right, sir,” answered the man at length, a bit sullenly. “Jump in.” He turned his horse round and drove rapidly toward the river.
2. A Business Consultation
The fog was still heavy and the blurred street-lamps looked ghastly in the yellow mist when the young messenger, the first half of his mission performed, struck briskly riverward to complete his business. He disposed of his violets at a corner stand, hailed a passing hansom boldly, and after a low consultation with the driver, got in. They drove steadily for an hour. The gas-lamps grew fewer, and the streets more narrow and gloomy. Suddenly the man drew up with a jerk.
“Here ye be,” he called huskily.
The boy sprang to the ground and peered about him. “It’ll do,” he announced, and then briefly, “Wait ‘arf an hour.”
He plunged down a dark and crabbed way, glancing warily behind him now and then to see if he was being followed.
Here, between invisible walls, the fog hung thick and warm and sticky, crowding up close, with a kind of blowsy intimacy that whispered the atmosphere of the place. Occasionally, close to his ear, snatches of loose song burst out, or a base, coarse face loomed head-high through the reek. But the boy was upon his native heath and scuttled along, whistling softly between closed teeth, as, with a dexterity born of long practice, he skirted slush and garbage sinks, held around the blacker gulfs that denoted unguarded basement holes, and eluded the hideous shadows that lurched by in the gloom.
Hugging the wall, he presently became aware of footsteps behind him. He rounded a corner, and turning swiftly collided with something which grappled him with great hands. Without hesitation, the lad leaned down and set his teeth deep into the hairy arm.
The man let go with a hoarse bellow of rage, and the boy, darting across the alley, could hear him stumbling after him in blind search of the narrow way.
Thin shivers of excitement rippled up and down
