Mr. Woodstock tried to pooh-pooh his own uneasiness; yet, totally improbable as it seemed that Waymark should disappear at such a juncture, the impatience of the afternoon had worked him into a most unwonted fit of nervousness. Doubts and suspicions which would ordinarily never have occurred to him filled his mind. He was again quite silent till his office was reached.
Waymark had not been. They walked upstairs together, and Mr. Woodstock asked his companion to be seated. He himself stood, and began to poke the fire.
"Do you live in Chelsea still?" he suddenly asked.
"Yes."
"I have left word at Waymark's lodgings that he is to come straight here whenever he returns. If he's not here by midnight, should I find you up if I called—say at half-past twelve or so?"
"I would in any case wait up for you, with pleasure?"
"Really," said Mr. Woodstock, who could behave with much courtesy when he chose, "I must apologise for taking such liberties. Our acquaintance is so slight. And yet I believe you would willingly serve me in the matter in hand. Perhaps you guess what it is. Never mind; I could speak of that when I came to you, if I have to come."
Julian's pale cheek had flushed with a sudden warmth. He looked at the other, and faced steadily the gaze that met his own.
"I am absolutely at your disposal," he said, in a voice which he tried to make firm, though with small success.
"I am obliged to you. And now you will come and have something to eat with me; it is my usual time."