“I was a fool to come, Violet,” Saton admitted, “and I am going at once. You think, then, that he was a detective?”
“I am sure of it,” she answered. “I was sure of it, from the moment he came in.”
“I will go,” Saton said.
“Did you come to see me?” she asked, with a momentary softening in her tone.
Saton nodded.
“It must be another time,” he said. “I will not stop now, or that man below will suspect.”
“When will our next evening be, Bertrand?” she begged, following him to the door.
“I’ll send you a telegram,” he answered—“perhaps, to-morrow.”
Saton descended the stairs quickly. On the threshold of the door he paused, with the apparent object of lighting a cigarette. His eyes travelled up and down the street. Looking into a shop-window a few yards away, was the man whom he had found with Violet.
He strolled slowly along the pavement and accosted him.