Llwellyn grew utterly white. When he spoke it was with several preliminary moistenings of the lips.
"But what proof can he have?"
"Don't be alarmed, Llwellyn. We are perfectly safe in every way. Only the man is an enemy of mine, and even small enemies are obnoxious. He won't disturb either of us for long."
The big man gave a sigh of relief. "Well, you manage as you think best," he said. "Confound him! He deserves all he gets—let's change the subject. It's a little too Adelphi-like to be amusing."
"I am going to hear Pachmann in the St. James's Hall. Will you come?"
Llwellyn considered a moment. "No, I don't think I will. I'm going out to a supper-party in St. John's Wood later—Charlie Fitzgerald's, the lessee of the Piccadilly. I shall go home and read a novel quietly. To tell the truth, I feel rather depressed, too. Everything seems going too well, doesn't it?"
Schuabe's voice shook a little as he replied shortly.
For a brief moment the veil was raised. Each saw the other with eyes full of the fear that was lurking within them.
For weeks they had been at cross purposes, simulating a courage and indifference they did not feel.
Now each knew the truth.