"I don't see how this can concern me, or you, either. You must pardon me if I say that I dislike meddling, and people who meddle."
Sylvester blushed hotly.
"You don't suppose I want to do him anything but good," he said diplomatically, trying to convince himself that he was not damaging the reputation for perfect candour which he hoped that he enjoyed. "It's not a pleasant task, but there are circumstances in which one has to sacrifice one's scruples—one's feelings."
Oswyn glanced at him again, with some contempt in the lines of his worn face.
"Excuse me if I refrain from sounding your motives."
Then he paused, fingering his soft felt hat. Suddenly his face was illumined by a remarkably grim smile, and it became evident to the man who was watching him so anxiously that there had occurred some change in his mental perspective.
"I don't quite understand why you brought me into this," he added, the smile still hovering very lightly on his lips. "However, under the circumstances, I think I can't do much harm by putting you in the way of finding Mrs. Crichton. Let me recommend you to inquire for her at the office of the Outcry, the newspaper—she used to work for it, I believe—in Took's Court. They will know her address there. Took's Court—it's only a few minutes' walk from here. Thanks, I can find my way out…."
"I suppose that was rather a stupid thing to do," he said regretfully, as he stopped in the doorway below to light a cigarette, "though not such a bêtise as his, mon dieu!… But I couldn't resist the temptation. Now, I wonder if he's clever enough to find out the truth?"
CHAPTER XXI
The night was dark and still—so dark that above the tree-tops all was a soft, abysmal blank, so still that the Japanese lanterns scarcely swung on their strings among the apple-trees, and the leaves almost forgot to rustle. From the tent in the corner of the little garden (little, but large for a garden in London) the quaint, rapturous music of the Hungarian band floated in fitful extravagance, now wildly dominating, now graciously accompanying the murmur of many voices, the mingled pace of feet, and the lingering sweep of silken skirts upon the shadowed grass. The light streamed in broad, electric rays from the open windows of the low, wide house, and from the tall double doors of the studio, which had been added at the side, broken continually by the silhouettes of guests who entered the rooms or sought the cooler air outside, and dulling to the quiet glow of old stained glass the rich radiance of the fantastic coloured lanterns.