Mannister helped his companion to alight, and as they passed into the building, the other hansoms turned into the Square. Traske, who was the last to descend, stood for a moment upon the pavement, looking across the Square to where the wind was moving softly in the tops of the blossoming lime trees. A faint breath of their perfume reached him where he stood, and brought with it sudden swift thoughts of a garden not so very far away, a quaint, old-fashioned, walled garden, full of sweet smelling flowers, shadowy corners, and seats in unexpected places. Even now she would be walking there waiting for him. A sudden passionate distaste for the sort of evening which lay before him checked his footsteps even as he turned away. He could see it all through those dark curtained windows; the little rooms, over-scented, over-hot; the soft, sense-stirring music; the dancing, not quite such as one would see in a ballroom; the champagne, the flushed faces, the sense of subtle excitement, unwholesome, ignoble. It was the first time he had felt any such revulsion, and he knew very well that it was only a temporary one. These had been his pleasures, this the manner of his life. He had looked for nothing better, desired nothing better. He had lived all his days as one of the herd, and he knew it. To-night he was suddenly conscious of a hopeless, passionate desire to get away. Almost he fancied that he could hear the girl's voice calling to him softly, calling him away for ever from all the things that lay across the threshold of Mrs. De la Mere's flat. He turned abruptly round. In a moment he would have crossed the Square. Suddenly a hand fell upon his shoulder. He turned round to find Mannister there.
"My dear fellow," Mannister said, "they're all in the lift waiting for you. What are you doing moon-gazing out here?"
"I have a headache," Traske answered. "I am going home."
Mannister's hand tightened on his shoulder like a vise.
"No," he said, "I think not! You are coming with me."
{[dhr]} Inside, the evening passed very much as many an evening before had passed. A little orchestra was tucked away in the corner of the larger of Mrs. De la Mere's sitting-rooms. Furniture was pushed back. They danced when they felt inclined, they sat about and talked. On the sideboard in the smaller room were many bottles of champagne, which, however, grew steadily less. Several young ladies connected with the theatrical profession had been summoned from their rooms, and other friends whom Mrs. De la Mere had invited kept coming and going. Traske, after an hour or so of weariness, gave in. Mrs. De la Mere herself took him into the smaller room, and made him open champagne for her. When he came back to dance his face was flushed, and his whole manner changed. He had forgotten all about the garden in the suburbs, and those other things which had troubled him for a moment. At thirty-five it is hard to reform. So the music went faster. A young lady, amidst uproarious applause, danced a "Pas Seul," and it was Traske who took her out afterwards and opened champagne for her. The air was blue with cigarette smoke, faces were flushed and hot, voices not altogether steady. Only two people remained unchanged, and they were Mannister and Mrs. De la Mere. Dicky, in whose honour the feast was given, sat upon the table which had been pushed into a corner of the room, with a bottle of champagne in one hand and a glass in the other.
"We'll lock the doors," he declared. "We won't let a soul out till eight o'clock, and then we'll all go round to breakfast at my place."
"You can stay as late as you like," Mrs. De la Mere answered, "but the band must go at three. They don't allow music afterwards."
"We will dance in the street," Dicky declared. "Remember it's my last night in England."
Nevertheless, presently a few people began to slip away. Traske, who had been left alone for a minute, moved suddenly to the window of the smaller room, which chanced to be empty, and throwing it open, leaned out. A rush of night air upon his face, cool, delicious, brought to his uncertain brain some glimmering apprehension of those other things, the memory of which had troubled him once before. He moved resolutely to a corner, took up his overcoat and hat, and had reached the door before a shout assailed him. It was Hambledon who had suddenly called attention to his going, and the others all streamed through the doorway.
"You sneak, Ben!" Mrs. De la Mere cried, "trying to steal away without even saying good night to your hostess! I'm ashamed of you. Come back at once, sir, and take off that coat."
Traske looked as though he had been surprised in something worse than a mere attempt to make his escape from a scene of which he had suddenly tired. His face was flushed, and he looked confused. He muttered something about the rooms being hot and having a headache, and he still tried to go. Mannister laid his hand upon his shoulder.
"We can't spare you, Traske," he said; "positively we can't spare you yet. Do you mean to say that you were going without even wishing your hostess good night?"
There was no opportunity for Traske to reply, there was no opportunity just then for any one else in the room to say a word. From the other room came Miss Bella Delmain, a burning spot of colour in her cheeks, her eyes lit with anger, her voice shrill with passion.
"My bracelet!" she cried. "I took it off only ten minutes ago, and it has gone. Don't let any one leave the room. Lock the doors, please, until my bracelet is found."
Mrs. De la Mere turned quickly round.
"You don't mean your diamond bracelet, Bella!" she exclaimed.
"I do!" was the excited response. "It cost five hundred pounds. It was given me by—never mind. It was my diamond bracelet, I tell you. Some one has taken it, some one who is in the room now. If this is a joke, for Heaven's sake drop it. I want my bracelet back. Do you hear, all of you? Who has it?"
There was a dead silence. The musicians had left off playing. Every one was drawing toward the little group of which Bella Delmain was the centre. Mannister intervened.
"Where did you leave the bracelet?" he asked.
"On the piano, not ten minutes ago," was the quick reply.
"It may have slipped down," some one suggested, and a search was made. They moved the piano, they shook the music books, they went on hands and knees upon the carpet, but there was no bracelet anywhere near the spot where it had been left. Mannister spoke again, and this time his voice was graver.
"This is a very unpleasant thing," he said. "With your permission, Mrs. De la Mere, we will lock the doors."
Traske objected vigorously.
"Such rot!" he exclaimed. "The girl will find the bracelet in a moment or two, probably upon her arm. I want to go. Do you hear, Mannister?"
Mannister eyed him coldly.
"I am afraid," he said, "that you will have to curb your impatience. Ladies and gentlemen," he added, turning back into the room, "this is a most unpleasant affair, and there is only one way out of it. First of all we must search the room, and then we must search one another."
Traske, who was more than half drunk, shook the handle of the door with his hand.
"Rubbish!" he exclaimed. "I won't be searched, and I won't stop here while you go through such an absurd performance. Do you hear, I want to go home."
Mannister turned towards him, smiling, and at that moment Traske felt the blood run cold in his veins. There was something in Mannister's face which he did not understand, something which seemed ominous in the faint, complacent smile with which he was regarded. Vaguely he felt that he was in some sort of danger, that he was trapped, and that Mannister knew all about it, and he lost for a moment control of himself.
"Give me the key, d—n you, Mannister!" he cried. "I am
