“He had plenty of money. He sold everything he did. There were one or two society ladies, the cats! Common property, I call them.”
“So it broke down again,” said Mendel.
“Yes. He got—— You know what he could be like. Sometimes I thought he was going off his head, and I often wonder if he wasn’t a bit touched. . . . I haven’t seen him since. I wondered if you had seen him.”
“No. I haven’t seen him. He doesn’t come back to me.”
“Mr. Tysoe hasn’t seen him. Cluny has some of his things, but won’t say a word. I think he must have left London.”
“I should think so,” said Mendel wearily, suddenly losing all interest. “I should think so.”
“I’ve left Hampstead. I’m living over the Pot-au-Feu, I’m working as a model. Don’t forget me, and if you hear of Logan, do let me know, and come and have a talk over old times.”
She had caught sight of an acquaintance smiling at her and went over to him, for all the world, as Mendel thought, like a fly-by-night.
He half ran, half staggered out of the place, saying to himself:—