He had, indeed, in the sudden tumult and agitation of Dick Darling's appearance and communication, lost sight of Mdlle. Lamien's claims upon him; nor was it until Patricia spoke with that enigmatical smile that he remembered them, or paused to consider what was likely to be her attitude in the present complication of affairs.
He had neither heard from or of Mdlle. Lamien since their parting, and while he held himself bound to her by honour, he could not help reflecting upon the fact that no actual engagement existed between them, and that she might so regard their equivocal position, and desire him to understand her silence as an expression of her final refusal of his suit. However that might be, he felt matters had reached such a crisis as to make his seeing her an imperative duty, since, by so doing, he might elucidate the true motive for Patricia's arrest. Recalling Adèle Lamien's last words, and the note of victory in her voice—"surely this should be triumph enough, even for me, to know that I have won you from the remembrance, nay, from the very presence of Patricia Hildreth"—he felt more than ever convinced that Vladimir Mellikoff had not only been helped by a woman, but by this very woman.
Had not her own words betrayed her jealousy and dislike of her former rival? What more natural than that she should join issue with Count Mellikoff, and play into his hands, not realising perhaps the nature of the train she set alight, or the gravity of the consequences?
Was she not a Russian, and had not Mellikoff himself enlightened him regarding the system of that secret police, whose ranks were reinforced by members of one's own household! According to the Count's black note-book, the very people who ate your bread, who clasped your hand in friendship, who instructed your children, were, one and all—if Russian—banded against you, and ready to strike at you in the dark at the word of command.
Separated from Mdlle. Lamien, and freed from the dominating influence of her personality, Mr. Tremain realised how little his own volition had had to do with his offer of marriage to her.
In looking back at their interview, it seemed to him he had been possessed by some demon of evil who urged him on to his doom; and under whose specious reasoning and cunning insinuations, his own stronger sense and will had become but passive agents.
How gladly would he not now welcome any honourable means of escape from the light fetters that bound him! He knew this, and acknowledged it frankly; even while he also realised that, were he again to stand before Adèle Lamien, and listen to her low suggestive voice, and look upon her strangely familiar face, he would again yield to her influence as he had yielded before, and be subjugated by that same nameless something, to which he had succumbed before. It was not a pleasant position for any man to accept, and yet he was obliged to accept it from its very uncontrovertibleness.
He walked all the way from Ludlow Street to his up-town chambers with such reflections for his only companions; it was not to be wondered at, therefore, that he felt himself out of tune with his surroundings, or that the light-hearted gaiety apparent in those he met, whose labours over for the day, were evidently on pleasure bent, jarred upon him as exuberant examples of positive callousness. Just so would they laugh and smile and jest, even though the worst predictions came true; and she, counted guilty, had already set sail across the ocean of destiny to meet her fate—alone, in a land where neither his skill nor his love could avail her anything. He reached his rooms at last, exhausted in body and mind; he found them in the most scrupulous order, Harris, the invaluable, having reduced everything to the level of every-day commonplace. Not a trace of last night's emotional interview remained, even Miss Dick's little glove had been neatly folded and lay upon the table, with the faded rose-bud from her corsage placed on top of it. With a sigh, Mr. Tremain threw himself down upon a couch drawn up against an open window, and passed his hand wearily over his forehead. The silence and coolness and half darkness were absolute rest and refreshment to him after the heat and glaring sunshine, and conflicting experiences of the day; it was a physical relief to sink into a state of semi-apathy and to pass from the tense excitation of feeling into a corresponding insensibility.
Philip could not have told how long he remained in this state of suspended activity; he was aroused at length by the slamming to of the heavy outer door, and with this ordinary sound he reawakened to the exigencies of the immediate situation. He got up wearily and struck a match, not with any definite object in view, but because he felt he must be doing something, and that something could be better accomplished in the light.
The slowly igniting candles on his writing-table threw but a faint aureola into the darkness, sufficient, however, to reveal to Philip's eyes the pile of unopened letters, across the topmost one of which was written that under-scored immediate.