In the hall Mr. Thorold was found by the landlady. The woman pervaded the house like a fly, and was always to be discovered where she was least expected. She recognized Alan, curtsied and awaited instructions.
"Take me," he said abruptly, "to Captain Lestrange."
"Lor', sir!" Mrs. Timber, in her amazement, overstepped the bounds of class. "You said he was no friend of yours, sir."
"Nor is he. Come, show me his room. He is in, I suppose?"
"Catch him wetting himself!" she said, leading the way, with a sour smile. "He's a furrin' Jack-o-dandy, that he is. Not but what he don't pay reg'lar. But I see the color of his money afore my meat goes down his throat. This is the door, sir."
"Very good. And, Mrs. Timber, should Joe Brill come, show him in here."
"Joe Brill!" yelped the landlady, throwing up her hands. "You don't mean to say as he's back, Mr. Alan! Well, I never did! And I thought he'd run away because of the murder."
"You think too much, Mrs. Timber. Some day you will get yourself into trouble. Now go, and don't forget my orders."
Chilled by the severity of his tone, Mrs. Timber crept away, somewhat ashamed. Alan knocked at the door, heard the thin voice of Lestrange call out "Entrez," and went in. The man was lying on the sofa, reading a French novel by the light of a petroleum lamp, and smoking a cigarette. When Alan appeared, he rose quickly into a sitting position, and stared at his visitor. Of all men, the last he had expected to see was the one he had so basely accused. The thought flashed into his mind that Thorold had come to have it out with him. But Lestrange, whatever his faults, was not wanting in a certain viperish courage. He rose to greet his enemy with a smile which cloaked many things.
"Good-evening, Mr. Thorold," he said, with a wary glance; "to what am I indebted for this visit?"