"If he had paid in the cheque I would have got him—the swine! But he hasn't. I sent orders to transfer his Klein Rivers. I thought I was doing him a good turn—just as I thought I was doing one for you, Merville."
"And he refused to allow you to make the sacrifice," said the doctor drily.
"I don't like that kind of talk, Merville," Steppe's face was dark with anger. "I want you to come with me. I'm going to see this—this thing. And I'm going to get the transfer! Make no mistake about that! Call up the filthy hound and tell him you are coming round. Don't mention me. It will give him a chance of getting rid of his women."
He listened to the telephone conversation that followed.
"What was he saying?"
"He asked me if there was anything wrong. It struck me that he was anxious—he asked me twice."
"That fellow has an instinct for trouble," said Steppe.
Ronnie was dressed, which was unusual for him, at this early hour. And the doctor noticed, could hardly help noticing, that the library was gay with flowers. This also was remarkable, for Ronnie disliked to have flowers in a room. There were daffodils, pierce-niege, bowls of violets, and through the open casement with its curtains fluttering in the stiff breeze, Merville saw new window boxes ablaze with tulips.
"You're admiring my flowers, Bertram," smiled Ronnie. "I had to buy them ready-grown and the gentleman who owns the flat has misgivings as to the wisdom of flower boxes—he thinks they may fall on to somebody's head. Good morning, Steppe, you look happy."
Mr. Steppe was looking and feeling quite the reverse. He forced his face into a contortion intended to be a smile.