LITMIR.BIZ

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      Quentin Gray and Seton strolled out of Prince's and both paused whilst Seton lighted a long black cheroot.

      “It seems a pity to waste that box,” said Gray. “Suppose we look in at the Gaiety for an hour?”

      His humor was vastly improved, and he watched the passing throngs with an expression more suited to his boyish good looks than that of anger and mortification which had rested upon him an hour earlier.

      Seton Pasha tossed a match into the road.

      “My official business is finished for the day,” he replied. “I place myself unreservedly in your hands.”

      “Well, then,” began Gray—and paused.

      A long, low car, the chauffeur temporarily detained by the stoppage of a motorbus ahead, had slowed up within three yards of the spot where they were standing. Gray seized Seton's arm in a fierce grip.

      “Seton,” he said, his voice betraying intense excitement, “Look! There is Monte Irvin!”

      “In the car?”

      “Yes, yes! But—he has two police with him! Seton, what can it mean?”

      The car moved away, swinging to the right across the traffic stream and clearly heading for old Bond Street. Quentin Gray's mercurial color deserted him, and he turned to Seton a face grown suddenly pale.

      “Good God,” he whispered, “something has happened to Rita!”

      Neglectful of his personal safety, he plunged out into the traffic, dodging this way and that, and making after Monte Irvin's car. Of the fact that his friend was close beside him he remained unaware until, on the corner of old Bond Street, a firm grip settled upon his shoulder. Gray turned angrily. But the grip was immovable, and he found himself staring into the unemotional face of Seton Pasha.

      “Seton, for God's sake, don't detain me! I must learn what's wrong.”

      “Pull up, Gray.”

      Quentin Gray clenched his teeth.

      “Listen to me, Seton. This is no time for interference. I—”

      “You are about to become involved in some very unsavory business; and I repeat—pull up. In a moment we shall learn all there is to be learned. But are you determined openly to thrust yourself into the family affairs of Mr. Monte Irvin?”

      “If anything has happened to Rita I'll kill that damned cur Pyne!”

      “You are determined to intrude upon this man in your present frame of mind at a time of evident trouble?”

      But Gray was deaf to the promptings of prudence and good taste alike.

      “I'm going to see the thing through,” he said hoarsely.

      “Quite so. Rely upon me. But endeavor to behave more like a man of the world and less like a dangerous lunatic, or we shall quarrel atrociously.”

      Quentin Gray audibly gnashed his teeth, but the cool stare of the other's eyes was quelling, and now as their glances met and clashed, a sympathetic smile softened the lines of Seton's grim mouth, and:

      “I quite understand, old chap,” he said, linking his arm in Gray's. “But can't you see how important it is, for everybody's sake, that we should tackle the thing coolly?”

      “Seton”—Gray's voice broke—“I'm sorry. I know I'm mad; but I was with her only an hour ago, and now—”

      “And now 'her' husband appears on the scene accompanied by a police inspector and a sergeant. What are your relations with Mr. Monte Irvin?”

      They were walking rapidly again along Bond Street.

      “What do you mean, Seton?” asked Gray.

      “I mean does he approve of your friendship with his wife, or is it a clandestine affair?”

      “Clandestine?—certainly not. I was on my way to call at the house when I met her with Pyne this evening.”

      “That is what I wanted to know. Very well; since you intend to follow the thing up, it simplifies matters somewhat. Here is the car.”

      “At Kazmah's door! What in heaven's name does it mean?”

      “It means that we shall get a very poor reception if we intrude. Question the chauffeur.”

      But Gray had already approached the man, who touched his cap in recognition.

      “What's the trouble, Pattison?” he demanded breathlessly. “I saw police in the car a moment ago.”

      “Yes, sir. I don't rightly know, sir, what's happened. But Mr. Irvin drove from home to the corner of old Bond Street a quarter of an hour ago and told me to wait, then came back again and drove round to Vine Street to fetch the police. They're inside now.”

      Even as he spoke, with excitement ill-concealed, a police-sergeant came out of the doorway, and:

      “Move on, there,” he said to Seton and Gray. “You mustn't hang about this door.”

      “Excuse me, Sergeant,” cried Gray, “but if the matter concerns Mrs. Monte Irvin I can probably supply information.”

      The Sergeant stared at him hard, saw that both he and his friend wore evening dress, and grew proportionately respectful.

      “What is your name, sir?” he asked. “I'll mention it to the officer in charge.”

      “Quentin Gray. Inform Mr. Monte Irvin that I wish to speak to him.”

      “Very good, sir.” He turned to the chauffeur. “Hand me out the bag I gave you at Vine Street.” Pattison leaned over the door at the front of the car, and brought out a big leather grip. With this in hand the police-sergeant returned into the doorway.

      “We're in for it now,” said Seton grimly, “whatever it is.”

      Gray returned no answer, moving restlessly up and down before the door in a fever of excitement and dread. Presently the Sergeant reappeared.

      “Step this way, please,” he said.

      Followed by Seton and Gray he led the way up to the landing before Kazmah's apartments. It was vaguely lighted by two police-lanterns. Four men were standing there, and four pairs of eyes were focussed upon the stair-head.

      Monte Irvin, his features a distressing ashen color, spoke.

      “That you, Gray?” Quentin Gray would not have recognized the voice. “Thanks for offering your help. God knows I need all I can get. You were with Rita tonight. What happened? Where is she?”

      “Heaven knows where she is!” cried Gray. “I left her here with Pyne shortly after seven o'clock.”

      He paused, fixing his gaze upon the face of Brisley, whose shifty eyes avoided him and who was licking his lips in the manner of a dog who has seen the whip.

      “Why,” said Gray, “I believe you are the fellow who has been following me all night for some reason.”

      He stepped toward the foxy little man but:

      “Never mind, Gray,” interrupted Irvin. “I was to blame. But he was following my wife, not you. Tell me quickly: Why did she come here?”

      Gray raised his hand to his brow with a gesture of bewilderment.

      “To consult this man, Kazmah. I actually saw her enter the inner room, I went to get a cab, and when I returned the door was locked.”

      “You knocked?”

      “Of course. I made no end of a row. But I could get no reply and went away.”

      Monte

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