It was almost midnight when Arnold was shown once more into the presence of Sabatini. Sabatini, in a black velvet smoking jacket, was lying upon a sofa in his library, with a recently published edition de luxe of Alfred de Musset's poems upon his knee. He looked up with some surprise at Arnold's entrance.
"Why, it is my strenuous young friend again!" he declared. "Have you brought me a message from Fenella?"
Arnold shook his head.
"She does not know that I have come."
"You have brought me some news on your own account, then?"
"I have brought you some news," Arnold admitted.
Sabatini looked at him critically.
"You look terrified," he remarked. "What have you been doing? Help yourself to a drink. You'll find everything on the sideboard there."
Arnold laid down his hat and mixed himself a whiskey and soda. He drank it off before he spoke.
"Count Sabatini," he said, turning round, "I suppose you are used to all this excitement. A man's life or death is little to you. I have never seen a dead man before to-night. It has upset me."