Just then the cab drew up outside the Langham Hotel. The every-day world had returned with its flaring electric lights, its hall porters, its noise and bustle, and chased away the illusions of the past few moments. Luke jumped out, ready to help Lou down—a happy second that, for her hand must needs rest in his.
The glare of the electric lamp above fell full on his face, which was serene, placid, the usual mask of supreme indifference: only Louisa read beyond the mask, and as her hand rested in his for just a thought longer than conventionality allowed, she realized that he knew everything: the murder, the horror, and the suspicion which had touched him already with the tip of its sable wing.
Her eyes, and the pressure of her hand bade him "good-night" and she passed on into the lighted hall of the hotel. He followed Colonel Harris into the lobby.
"You have heard?" he asked quickly and in a whisper, lest Lou should hear.
"Yes," replied the other.
"And Louisa? Does she know?"
"Gossip was all over the confounded place," was Colonel Harris's muttered comment.
"But you've heard no details?"
"No. Have you?"
"Very little. Only what the police officer chose to tell me."