He kept his eyes fixed on the door of that compartment all the way to the terminus, but it remained unopened until Waterloo was reached. There, watching more keenly than ever, he chuckled at his own acumen when his observation was rewarded by the sight of a very differently attired person to the shabbily clad old clergyman, who had entered the compartment, stepping from the train. The clerical hat and collar and the spectacles had disappeared. The shabby overcoat carried on Hora's arm revealed only a new silk lining which was not out of keeping with the smartly cut lounge suit Hora was wearing beneath. His stoop abandoned, he seemed three or four inches taller, but he still carried his bag, and Kenly could not have mistaken the limp.

The detective walked briskly along the platform to the exit of the station, giving one glance at Hora's face as he passed him. Hora was signalling a cab and paid no attention. At the exit the detective paused. The cab which contained the man he was following drove through the gate, and he heard the address which the cabman shouted to the clerk in the cab registry office. He gained the street, and, hailing an empty cab passing at the moment, gave the driver an address two doors distant from that which had reached his ears. A block in the traffic at a street corner enabled him to catch up with the cab he pursued. Nor did he again lose sight of it until Hora, alighting, paid the man, and entered his own residence.

The detective looked at his watch. Seven o'clock! There was plenty of time before him. He also dismissed his cabman, and strolled along to the building which Hora had entered. Unless his memory was at fault he guessed that he would have very little difficulty in obtaining all the information he desired. He knew the block of mansions, and he knew that a year or two previously an old comrade of his was employed there in the capacity of hall porter. His memory had not deceived him. As he reached the door his old comrade opened it to allow a lady to pass. Recognition was mutual. Inspector Kenly entered. When he left he was acquainted with all that the servants in Westminster Mansions knew of Lynton Hora's household, but the information he had gleaned afforded him no sort of a hint as to the nature of the connection which existed between him and Cornelius Jessel, the detective's literary lodger.

CHAPTER XIII
POISONED WORDS

A hundred times a day Myra told herself that she would forget Guy, that she would tear every tender memory of him from her heart, and a hundred times a day her heart cried out passionately that forgetfulness were impossible, since every time she saw him her hunger for his love grew fiercer. There came a day when she realised that it was impossible to persuade herself that she might ever forget, and, when she thus surrendered herself to the bitter-sweet reflection of the folly of bestowing a love which was unreturned, she realised also that certainly and surely Guy was drifting further away from her.

If he had remained under the same roof, she would have been content for the relationship of brother and sister to endure, but, when she could no longer watch over his outgoings and incomings, she became possessed of a devouring desire to know how and where he spent his time. With a woman's intuition she guessed that he could not remain fancy free. He was not that type of man. She knew that to him the feminine complement would inevitably be sought and found. She had thought that he might have found that complement in her. When Hora had told her that she had been too near Guy, she had trusted his knowledge of the world, but after Guy had been living away from them for a month, and he had shown no alteration in his demeanour, she told herself that Hora had merely lied to her to prevent her protesting against a plan which was to place Guy out of her reach. She thought she saw that plan maturing as the weeks passed and Guy's visits became fewer and fewer. Hora did not apparently mind when he only came in for a brief half-hour in the morning during a whole week, and made that visit merely to announce that he was going out of town on the following day, and was uncertain when he would return.

Myra remembered that six months previously he would have acted very differently. Then any plan formulating in his mind would have been discussed between all of them, then she would have known where he was going, and when he might be expected to return.

She did Lynton Hora an injustice. He was in reality as much perturbed as herself at the alteration in Guy's demeanour. But he could await the explanation with more equanimity, since he had taken steps to discover the reason. He did not for a moment suppose that Guy's opinions were undergoing any change. Even, as Myra, he suspected a feminine reason for Guy's reserve on the subject of his movements. He did not attempt to force a confidence from the young man; he was far too astute. He had no belief in confidences that were not volunteered.

Guy was glad that he had not been asked for an explanation as to his movements. He felt ashamed that he could have accepted an invitation to the house of his supposed father's enemy. Yet he could not have resisted the opportunity which would be afforded him of spending whole days in the sweet companionship of Meriel Challys. So, after his acceptation of the invitation given him he had stayed away from Westminster Mansions. He had not thought of Myra at all. They had been boy and girl together, confidantes, playmates, brother and sister. The idea of any other relationship had never for a moment crossed his mind, and when he bade her a careless good-bye and mechanically kissed her cheek he had not the slightest suspicion that her heart was in a tumult, that at the faintest encouragement she would have thrown herself into his arms and offered her lips.

She gave no indication of the emotion which swayed her then. But all day she brooded over the coldness of the farewell alone in her room. Not with tears, the time for that relief was not yet come.